


The last days of summer in San Francisco

by KeepGoing



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, College AU, College Student Ian, Falling In Love, Friendship, Mickey works at a Library, PTSD, past trauma, semi in the closet mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25062256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeepGoing/pseuds/KeepGoing
Summary: Mickey was a just a 22 year old trying to run away and start over from a traumatic past, spending his days working in the rare book section of the Berkeley library. Too hurt, too scared, and too shameful to let anyone inside his small rebuilt world.But when Ian invades his tiny corner of the world, quite literally, Mickey wants to believe that not all people, places, and things come with pain and sadness. Especially when he learns Ian is trying to rebuild himself from his own pile of ashes.Sometimes friendship and love can be found in the last days of summer in San Francisco.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 64
Kudos: 190





	1. I was a fire that you started

**Author's Note:**

> This whole fic was inspired by the song "Last days of summer in San Francisco" by Matt Nathanson.
> 
> You can read the lyrics here: https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/mattnathanson/lastdaysofsummerinsanfrancisco.html
> 
> For the record I know nothing about the Berkeley Library or the University for that matter. So any mistakes are just...mistakes.
> 
> I am hoping to be able to update this fic weekly. I have it all outlined and I am super excited to write this. I have been in love with this song for years and somehow it just hit me that its a perfect song to write a Gallavich Au for. I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> As always comments are LOVE.

_**We spent July in a Berkeley basement,** _  
_**Half read books, and bold declarations.** _  
_**There was so much I didn't believe in** _  
_**And then, there was you.** _

Mickey likes books. 

The way old binding feels in his hands; like at any second the material could crack and peel and all the care and extra attention that had been shown to it could all be in vain. The smell; like the books had seen some things; things that whisper off the old pages into the air. 

Mickey likes books, but he especially likes old books. 

Old books tell a story within a story. The people who have read them, had in them in their homes. Some of them were important people. Some of them were like Mickey himself; a nobody just trying to make it through another day unscathed. Old books told a story with their worn covers and yellowed pages. Old books have value. Old books are one of the last things left of a world that is now ruled by cell phones and I-Pads and Kindles. No one picks up a book anymore. No one feels the  crinkle of the paper as they turn it. 

No one feels anything anymore. 

Mickey likes books. He always has. Even when he was 5 years old and way advanced in his reading than any of the other kids in his class, but he had to lie about it because reading was for pussies and he pretended to be dumber than he was and purposely didn’t do well in school so his Dad wouldn’t know just how smart he really was. Because being smart in the Milkovich household meant one of two things. Either you were a  _ fucking sissy  _ because only fairy pussies were smart and liked to read, or as he got older being smart meant he would have to help his father more with the runs of guns and drugs he had been doing his whole life to keep a roof over their heads, or more importantly whiskey in his bloodstream.

Mickey  hadn't been able to really pick up a book since he was 5 years old when his mother used to hide books under his pillow so he could read at night when their Dad was either down at the Alibi getting wasted or he was passed out on the couch from a day of being wasted. Once his mom was gone so were the books and his love for them slowly faded just like the memories, he has of her. 

So, Mickey  wasn’t able to pick up a book again until he got to San  Francisco . And now he had all the books he wanted. Getting the job at the Berkeley University Library was like the best thing that had ever happened to him. Which to most would sound so  _ pathetic.  _ But to him,  it’s a lot. Its everything. He got to handle some of the rarest and oldest books in the world. He got to dust them and make sure were preserved correctly and that no hipster fucking loser damaged them with their kale stained hands. Mickey had to deal with a lot of assholes but it was the older men and women; the  few and far between who make their way into the rare books section; they were the ones that Mickey really liked. The ones who knew how important this room was. How much history it  held. How special it all was. 

If his Dad could hear him now, Mickey knew exactly what he would say. 

_ Fucking faggot. God Damn pole smoker. Little shirt  _ _ lifter _ _.  _

And  yeah , Mickey was. 

He was gay. 

A gay  22-year-old living in San Fran-fucking-cisco working in a library.

He  probably couldn’t get any gayer than that. 

But his Dad  wasn’t here. He was far away and hopefully dead by now. Mickey knows  it’s a horrible thing to want, but he has scars, physical and emotionally that will live with him forever all by his father’s hands.  It’s the  reason why he  doesn’t really have any friends even though  he’s been here for over a year now. Its why he  hasn’t even had sex in years because even though  he’s far away from the town he grew up in and the man who made him feel fear instead of safety, he was still just...scared. Scared of who he was. Scared of where he came from. Scared of letting anyone get too close because he is and will always be the piece of shit Milkovich kid from southside Chicago with the  knuckle tattoos and the scar above his eye from his father’s gun because his son turned out to be his worst fear. 

A fucking faggot. 

But Mickey had his books and his small studio apartment that cost  way too much but its California and he has sun and his job and beer in his fridge and  yeah , it's enough. 

Mickey is putting back  a very rare and  very old copy of “The  Odyssey ” when he hears the door open to the room. Its Thursday which means  it's probably Walter , a  77-year-old man who has lived in San Francisco his whole life and calls Mickey ‘kid.’ Something like that used to bother him, in another place at a different time in his life, but now Mickey has gotten used to it and frankly  kinda likes it. 

Mickey turns to find Walter is not Walter but a tall, Jesus Christ is he tall, red haired hipster standing a few feet in front of him with his hands in his sweatshirt pockets like  he’s afraid to touch anything. The expression on his face is a mixture of fear and confusion and a bit...sad.  It's an expression Mickey knows well. He sees it every day when he looks in the mirror. 

“Harry Potter’s in the Sci Fi fiction second on the second floor.” Mickey mumbles, turning back the cart of books he needs to put away. 

“Funny.” The red head mumbles and has the nerve to just start  _ walking around.  _ He  doesn’t touch anything, but ducks and squints at the names on the spines of the books. His long legs shuffling far slower than they were meant to, carrying his hunched shoulders and black backpack that  probably should be carrying more than it is. Mickey has a knack for figuring people out early on without even having to make conversation with them. He knows the college kids that stumble into the room by accident; some because a closed door is  _ always  _ an invitation to just walk in; and some because they are looking for someplace to have a heterosexual hump fest in between classes. Some are older people just looking for something older than them. Some are book fanatics; they either talk Mickey’s ear off trying to show how much more they know about the books than him, or they  don’t speak at all as they take in the silence and history in the room. 

Mickey has a knack for figuring people out. 

But Mickey  can't figure this guy out. He seems interested in the books, sometimes reaching out to touch but then pulling his hand back like the book is on fire. He keeps looking at Mickey, like  he’s waiting to get yelled at or for another snarky comment to come out of his mouth. Mickey tries to keep his eyes off the man with the greenest eyes  he’s ever seen, but the guy keeps  _ looking  _ at him and its becoming...something.

“Can I like help you find something or some shit?”

The red head has the audacity to look surprised. Like Mickey was  _ interrupting _ __ him or something. 

“No, I just want to look. I like being in here.”

“I’ve never seen you in here before.”

“You work 24 hours a day?”

Mickey raises an eye brow at him. “Feels like it.”

Red just smiles and goes back to looking at the rows of books.  What the hell is Mickey supposed to do with  _ that? _ So, he just goes back to his books too and then suddenly Red is there, all up in his personal space. Mickey takes a full step back.

“The fuck, man?”

“Sorry. Just wanted to see what’s on your cart.”

Mickey  actually almost flails at that. This guy...he  isn't quite sure why he is so annoyed by this guy.  He’s not technically doing anything wrong. It is a library. People come here to look at books. But Mickey has become a bit attached and protective of this room and he  doesn’t like strangers just waltzing in and start  _ looking  _ around. Like who the fuck does that?

“I’m Ian, by the way.” Red just  _ picks up  _ a copy of Dante’s inferno. Mickey just stares. 

“This is when you tell me your name.” Ian  doesn't look up from the jacket of the book, but when Mickey  doesn’t answer for a good solid  minute, he glances at him. Mickey just points to his  very clear name tag on his shirt. Ian smiles and Mickey is  pretty sure his knees give out a little. Fuck this guy. 

“Okay, Mickey.” Ian puts the book back down on the cart. “Why don’t you show me the really cool shit?”

And somehow that’s how Mickey ends up sitting on the floor in the very back of the room surrounded by cases of the oldest books the library has the honor of housing. Ian’s been staring a Greek version of the New Testament behind the glass for a good 15 minutes. Mickey is staring at the hole in the knee of Ian’s jeans. 

“Do you believe in God?”

Mickey snorts. “You  wanna talk about religion?” Ian just shrugs. 

“I used to. Believe. I don’t anymore.”

“I never did.”

Ian rolls his head against the wall and looks at Mickey with a curious look. “Bad childhood, huh?”

“Fuck you.”

Ian laughs and shuffles his legs, bringing them up to his chin. He hugs his knees and keeps staring at that damn bible. 

“You, uh, go to school here or...?” Mickey  isn't even sure  _ why  _ he’s asking him. He  isn't even sure how they ended up here, on the floor, in silence for most of their time in this room. He  isn't even sure how Ian ended up in this room. And  he’s really not sure what time it even is now. 

“Yeah.” 

_ Yeah _ _.  _ That’s all the fucker answers. He  doesn’t ask if Mickey does. He  doesn’t ask much. Except questions about Mickey’s religious beliefs and his childhood. What in the actual  fuck?

Mickey finally glances at this watch. “Uh, hey man. Library closes in like 10 minutes.”

“Okay.” Ian stands and just  _ walks the fuck out.  _ Mickey sits there, unmoving for like 5 minutes. He has no idea what just happened. It might be one of the weirdest experiences in his whole life and  he’s had some  pretty weird fucked up shit happen to him.  It's like Mickey is frozen in the spot where Ian left him; contemplating God and the fact that Ian is the  first-person Mickey has found even remotely attractive in years. Yeah, Mickey can appreciate a nice face or ass, but Ian...Ian is the first person who Mickey  hasn’t felt instantly sick to his stomach over the second he realizes ‘hey you’re gay and you might be attracted to this guy.’ 

And Mickey has no idea what the fuck to do with this information. 

So, Mickey finishes putting the books back exactly where they need to go from the cart and does one last dusting, because he’s off tomorrow and he  won't let the cleaning people in here because well, you know, and punches out for the night. He grabs his zip up sweatshirt and goes out the side entrance back into the real world. He thinks  maybe he will get Thai tonight.  He’s been craving it and he allows himself one meal out a week and since the day  he’s had-

“Hey.”

Mickey jumps and turns,  almost too aggressively in fight stance. Old habits die hard. 

“Whoa, sorry. Didn’t mean to sneak up on  ya .” Ian smiles and again  _ this fucking guy.  _

“Are you fucking stalking me? What the fuck, man?” Mickey breathes out slowly trying to get his heart to stop hammering away in his chest cavity. 

“No, you said the library was closing.”

Mickey just stares at him. What?

“What?”

“ So, I figured you were getting off work.”

“Okay....”

“Are you hungry? I’m starving.” Ian just starts walking, like it something people do and what? He expects Mickey to just follow him? 

And even though he does, it doesn’t mean anything. 

“ Yo , Red, I’m going home. I don’t know what you’re doing.” Mickey starts walking ahead of him, to like make a point, but Ian just jogs, he fucking  _ jogs  _ up next to Mickey. 

“ It's Ian.” 

“W hatever the fuck is what it is.”

“Not real social, huh?” Ian asks, that fucking  smirk on his face. 

“No, but you don’t seem to take the hint.”

“I’m just being friendly.” Ian starts jogging ahead of him and then turns to look at Mickey, still jogging. Backwards. Mickey just...stops walking. And Ian stops...jogging. 

Backwards. 

“Are you like, nuts or something, man?”

Mickey watches as Ian’s face  kinda falls. Fuck.

“I was just being nice. You like old books. So, do I. I  don’t have many friends here. My fucking mistake. Have a  _ great  _ night, Mickey.” Ian turns and starts walking in the opposite direction of Mickey’s apartment and for a moment  he’s relieved. 

But by the time Mickey gets home with his Thai food he feels anything but relieved. He feels...something. Anger? No. Annoyance? Maybe. 

Regret?

Yeah ,  that’s the one. He was an asshole. But he is an asshole.  It's his number one feature.  It's all he knows. It keeps people away from him. He likes it that way.  It's safe and silent and zero bullshit. He likes being alone. He just wants to live his life and be with his books and  yeah maybe he gets lonely, but he has his old folks who come into the library and  that’s enough conversation for him.  It's not personal and they talk about something  he’s passionate about. He  doesn’t need some college red haired  Adonis asking him about his belief in God and  sort of asking him to get something to eat with him. 

He  doesn’t _ need  _ that. 

But  maybe he _ wants  _ it. 

Fuck. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*

Mickey  doesn’t see Ian again for  almost 2 weeks. He had almost forgotten about the whole weird encounter,  _ almost  _ until he was leaving his shift one Tuesday night to find Ian sitting on a bench, smoking a cigarette, just looking up at the setting sky.

Because that’s what people do?

Well, Mickey guesses  that’s what Ian does. 

“Ay.”

Ian leans his head all the way back and stares at Mickey behind him. Upside down. 

This guy  has to be crazy. There really is no other explanation. 

“Hello.”

_ Hello.  _ Who the fuck just talks like that?

Ian. Ian talks like that.

“Not interested in books anymore?”

Ian keeps his head back but furrows his brow. “What? Did you miss me or something?”

“No.” 

_ Yes. Maybe. Fuck you.  _

Ian stands, almost spinning on his converses. “No?”

Mickey sighs. “Listen, I’m not like a friendly guy. I didn’t mean to be such a dick but I don’t like...do this.” He motions between them, flailing just a little. 

“Do what exactly? Talk? Have conversations? Eat food with other humans?”

“Yes.”

Ian laughs, like really laughs and hops over the bench like  some kind of acrobat and lands with a thud in front of Mickey. 

“There’s just something about you, Mickey.”

Mickey swallows, noticing for the first time the brown speckles in Ian’s green eyes.  Yeah ,  definitely attractive . Fuck. 

“ It's the  knuckle tattoos.”

Ian glances down at Mickey’s knuckles, almost studying them.

“I hope you do.”

Mickey watches as Ian’s eyes slide up and meet his. “Do what?”

“Fuck me up.”

Mickey knows his eyes are wide and his eyebrows are doing that thing where he looks pissed and amused and annoyed and confused all in one shot. And  he’s about to do just that, fuck Ian up with his fists when Ian smiles again and its annoying and confusing and it pisses Mickey off and amuses him all in one shot. 

“That a fag joke?”

That’ll get him.

It  doesn’t . 

“Maybe. You got a problem with gay people?”

Does he? Not  _ really.  _ No, he  doesn’t . Mickey has a problem with himself being gay. 

“You think I’m gay?” Mickey practically whispers it because some things in his brain are starting to click and over compute and spin as he wonders if  maybe everyone knows. That the  knuckle tattoos and the attitude and the strong silent type personality just screams  _ fag  _ just like his father always said he was. But Mickey is. He is. But it  doesn’t mean  he’s going to do anything about it. 

“I don’t think anything. I’m hoping, but I don’t think anything really other than you like books and you’re funny even though you don’t mean to be and I like the way you look at me.” Ian shrugs and Mickey  can't feel his hands. 

“How do I look at you?” Mickey asks slowly. He is so fucking confused. And he  couldn’t move from this spot if a fucking  meteor hit. 

Mickey can tell Ian is choosing his words wisely. He just keeps looking at Mickey like  he’s the most interesting thing in San Francisco even though the sun is setting behind Ian’s head making the red in his hair shine brighter. The sunsets here are beautiful but all Mickey can do is stare at Ian. 

“Like I’m something.”

And Mickey  _ feels  _ that. He feels it in every part of his body and the sentence buries itself somewhere in his chest like its  gonna settle there and wait for a night when Mickey needs to pluck it back out and remember it and analyze it for another time. 

Mickey feels the pain in Ian’s face and the awkwardness in his stance and the way Ian holds himself. Like he  doesn’t realize how attractive he is and how people have been walking by and staring at him because the sunset behind him is making him even more attractive seems to make him uncomfortable. No one looks at Mickey. No one notices him. But Ian does. Ian noticed him. 

Ian sees him. 

And he  _ feels  _ it. And it feels amazing. 

“You  wanna get food?” Is what Mickey finally  says . 

Ian nods. “I could eat.”

They walk in silence off campus, slowly, staying close. Mickey can feel the warmth radiating off Ian’s body and it makes him shiver in such a confusing and weird new way. 

“So, you’re gay, then?” Mickey asks when they turn onto the downtown street from Campus. 

“Yeah.” Ian side eyes him. “Are you?”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Wouldn't you like to know.” He leaves Ian standing on the street as he looks up at all the signs of the  restaurants lining the sidewalk. 

“I would. I would like to know.” Ian hurries to catch up with him and Mickey just laughs. 

Yeah, Mickey  _ feels  _ something.


	2. You made me brave, you made me stupid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its about to get real.
> 
> Ian's story is uncovered. Sort of. 
> 
> Comments are LOVE.

_**You made me brave,** _   
_**You made me stupid** _   
_**Gave me this skin, that I could move in.** _

Ian’s been tearing the paper white napkin into his own personal confetti for about 5 minutes. He’s nervous. Like visibly nervous. Mickey cant help but smirk. 

“You okay there, Red?”

Ian looks up from his chaotic art project, eyes wide and so fucking green. Mickey raises an eye brow. 

“Sorry. Habit.”

Mickey just mmm’s and takes a sip of his beer. “So?”

“Huh?” Ian looks…confused. Good, that makes two of them. 

“Well, you were so bent on sharing a meal with me, so…” Mickey waves his hand over the table. “So?”

Ian huffs out a long exhale of a laugh. “Yeah, I uh, guess I didn’t think this far ahead.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Guess I’m bad at this, too.”

Mickey sips his beer again so he can hide his smirk. Because confident, flirty Ian that Mickey had met not even 2 weeks ago is gone. Now he has nervous, fidgety Ian and Mickey thinks he might be seeing the real Ian, and he likes it. A lot. More than he wants to. 

“So what are you studying at Berkeley?” Okay so Mickey’s trying, okay? He has no idea how to do this. Whatever this is. 

Ian exhales another one of those breathy laughs. “Right. About that. I don’t actually go to Berkeley.”

Mickey frowns. “Then what the fuck were you doing in the library?”

Ian just shrugs. “I like books.” Like its that simple. Mickey stares at him; the way Ian’s vibrating a little from bouncing his leg under the table. How he keeps chewing on the inside of his mouth. How his eyes keep darting around; not that he’s really looking for someone, more so that someone might be looking for him. 

“Ian.” Mickey says gently. “You ok?” He’s so confused. 

Ian just smiles this crazy bright smile and it honestly makes Mickey’s head spin. One second Ian looks almost suicidal and then he’s smiling like its fucking Christmas morning or some shit. 

“So, tell me, Mickey,” and the way Ian says his name floods a warmth through Mickey’s chest that travels all the way up his neck to his cheeks.

“Where did you come from?”

So this is what you do, huh? You talk about yourselves? Like, on purpose. Mickey cant get over the fact that he had actually asked him a question that Ian pretty much deflected in the smoothest yet confusing of fashions, but Mickey figures he can let it go for now. Ian doesn’t seem like he really wants to talk too much about himself right now from his body language and Mickey can respect that. Understand it even. For now. 

“You want to know all the gory details of my past? My sob story?”

Ian nods, folding his large hands on the table in front of him. Yeah, Mickey noticed. How can he not?

“Who says I got one?”

“Everyone has one, Mick.”

No one has called Mickey that since he was a kid. Not since his mother. Anger builds, then a wave of sadness and then the wall shoots up out of the deep crevice of his self loathing. 

“I barely know you. I ain’t spillin my guts to some stranger. Especially since you lied and shit about you going to school.” Yeah, its harsh and Mickey almost instantly regrets it when he watches Ian’s eyes cloud over with a twinge of embarrassment and anger. Almost. 

“You don’t want to know about me.” Ian finally says looking down at his folded hands. “You wouldn’t be sitting here if you did.”

“Oh, cause you’re the only one with problems, man? Gimme a break.” Mickey snorts and downs the rest of his beer in one loud gulp. He reaches into his back pocket for his wallet and throws a $20 on the table. “Don’t fucking say I didn’t try. So don’t fucking give me those eyes and ‘have a great night Mickey’ bullshit. Okay, tough guy?”

This is why. This is why Mickey doesn’t bother. Because everyone is a God damn asshole. They either take and take and take and leave you with nothing or their just plain fucking annoying and he just doesn’t have the time, energy or patience for that shit. He leaves Ian at the table with those fucking eyes and it makes Mickey want to punch the brick wall outside the restaurant. He feels like fucking something up alright, but he’s really not in the mood for a broken hand or a night in a holding cell, so he just mumbles curses under his breath and he makes his way back up the sidewalk through the swarm of college granola heads. 

He’s walked maybe 3 minutes when he feels that large hand through his sweatshirt on his elbow. He stops but doesn’t turn around. 

“What now?” He forces out through gritted teeth. He’s tired and he doesn’t want to do this, whatever the fuck it is. Ian doesn’t answer which means he’s gonna be forced to turn and look at him and he really doesn’t want to do that because this was just a huge mistake and his bullshit tolerance is abnormally low tonight and he isn’t even sure how he got here and he’s pissed at himself and Ian for making him think…no. See? Bullshit. 

He turns, because Ian still has his hand on his God damn elbow and the kid is obviously going through some shit, like everyone else in this fucking world so Mickey doesn’t want to add to it by yanking away or shoving his elbow into Ian’s stomach or face which is what the old Mickey would have done. So instead he turns and fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. Ian’s crying. 

Not full on sobbing but his eyes are red and wet and Jesus Christ green.

Fuck. 

Mickey sighs. “Man, what the fuck?”

“I don’t have anywhere to go.” Ian mumbles it and Mickey almost doesn’t catch it with the hustle and bustle of loud ass annoying supposed adults on the street. 

“What the fuck you mean?”

Ian drops his hand from Mickey’s elbow and he instantly feels colder. “I sleep on campus. A bench. Library steps. Sometimes under that big tree in the courtyard.”

“But…” Mickey just blinks. That can’t be true. “Even in the rain? Like how do you…” And then for the first time, Mickey really sees Ian. Too skinny for his tall frame. Hair in desperate need of a hair cut. Ripped jeans and jagged edges of his sweatshirt. Converses that look like they’ve been through some shit. A lot like how Ian looks. How could he have not really seen that till now? Mickey used to be so good at reading people. Maybe he just doesn’t know anything. Not really. How could he?

“Fuck.” Mickey mumbles, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Okay. Come on.”

Ian looks at him, eyes all glassy and broken. “You don’t owe me anything. You were pissed I lied. So I told you the truth. You don’t owe me anything.” And he’s right. Mickey doesn’t owe him shit. But he also knows what its like to feel like how Ian looks. Scared. Confused. Lonely. Not sure where you’re going or even where you were. It took Mickey a long time to get where he was. And Ian seems…okay. Mickey was never the type to just help someone. But…Ian was right. Mickey does see something when he looks at Ian and for now, maybe its enough. 

“Shut up and come on. Before I change my mind.” Mickey doesn’t wait for him to answer, just turns and continues up the street. He isn’t even sure Ian’s following him until they’ve made it to Mickey’s street and he can feel Ian behind him. He unlocks the door to the foyer area of his building, not even looking back as he holds it open for Ian. 

His apartment is messy but not dirty and Mickey picks up a few scattered pieces of clothing as he shuffles through the small studio. He hears the door click closed and Mickey chucks the dirty clothes in his hamper. He takes a few deep breathes because this is nuts, right? Before turning to finally look at Ian.

Only to find he’s half naked and getting more naked by the second. 

“What the fuck!?”

Ian stills, jeans and boxers half way down his legs. “What? Is this not what you want?”

“No! Put your damn clothes back on! The fuck is wrong with you? Jesus!” Mickey turns around scrubbing his hands over his face. He’s not gonna think about what he just saw which might have been the biggest dick he’s ever seen. Not now. Fuck. 

There’s a mumbled ‘sorry’ from behind him and when Mickey finally turns back around a full minute later, Ian is dressed again. Mickey exhales, roughly, and just stares at him. “Ian, what the hell?”

Ian just shrugs, shrugs, and his eyes just look…lost. “Usually that’s what guys want if they ask me in. Gives me a place to sleep for the night. Maybe even some money to eat for the week.” He says it so casually like its not the most fucked up thing Mickey has ever heard. 

“Yeah, well, that’s not what’s happening here.” Mickey grabs two beers from his fridge and roughly shoves one into Ian’s chest as he passes him on the way to the couch. Mickey sits, drinking half of it in one sip before exhaling slowly, trying to wrap his reeling mind around everything. 

“Sorry.” Ian mumbles again. Mickey looks over his shoulder at him and just sighs. What the fuck?

“Come sit down, would ya? Christ.”

Ian sits slowly, close to Mickey because its only a loveseat, which as Mickey thinks of it, it pisses him off. He’s pissed off at a lot of things right now. Himself, fucking assholes who thinks its just alright to pay someone to have sex with them who is clearly going through some shit. And Ian for thinking that’s what he needs to do to survive. 

“Spill. I want to hear it all. And then I’ll decide what the fuck I’m gonna do.” Mickey motions for Ian to speak but Ian just looks…confused. 

“Do? Do about what?”

“You!” Mickey yells, probably too loud. 

Ian takes a breath and a sip of his beer. The label is halfway torn off before he starts talking. 

“Do you know what its like to grow up in a family that you never really felt like you belonged to? Like everyone else just seemed to fit, somewhere in it, but I just never did. I never fit anywhere. And for a long time I just thought it was like middle child syndrome or some shit. But it wasn’t. I found out my dad wasn’t really my dad. And that the disease my mom had that made her cut her wrists at Thanksgiving, was the only thing she ever really gave me. And being gay on top of all that?” Ian shakes his head and his voice shakes. “Its like hell on earth. So I ran. And I got here and everything was so clean and new and I could smell the ocean and I thought, yeah, I can do this. I can stay here and be happy. But I’m nuts. My pills only lasted so long and I can’t get new ones without a job and I can’t get a job without my pills so I just…do what I got to do. But I’m free. And I’m me. And there’s no more feeling like I don’t fit anymore.” He shrugs. “So, I guess that’s it.”

Mickey’s hands have been white knuckling his bottle of beer the whole time Ian’s been talking. And he isn’t sure if he wants to run away screaming or hug this guy until neither of them can breathe. 

“Guess I just wanted a place where I felt safe. But I don’t. Sometimes. Mostly when I’m in the library. But mostly, no. Maybe there is no place safe.”

Mickey feels that. Because it took him a long time to let go of where he came from and the constant echo of his Dad’s screams in his head to fade. And their still there, sometimes. When its too quiet and Mickey’s lonely. He gets that feeling. 

“What’s the disease?” Mickey finally asks. 

“Bipolar. Mania with paranoia and episodes of depression.”

Mickey exhales because he isn’t sure what he was expecting but its better than all the fucked up shit he had running through his head. He’s quiet for a few minutes, finishing his beer and thinking. 

“No more fucking dudes for money. That shit stops now. You’re better than that. I can probably get you a job at the library. Probably not too many hours but it’ll be something. And no more sleeping on benches. You can crash here until…I don’t know. Just until.”

“There’s no room for me here, Mickey.” Ian says gently. 

“I got a king.” Mickey motions toward the oversized bed he has no business having in such a small place. “We won’t even touch each other as long as you don’t sleep like an asshole.”

“But why?” Ian whispers. Mickey looks at him, and Ian’s searching his eyes for the reason. The take. To try and see the evil in Mickey’s offer. 

“Because I do know what its like to be a part of a family, a fucking place where you feel like you don’t belong. I know what its like to run with nothing but the clothes your wearing and not look back. And I know its tough as shit to start over from nothing. So yeah, that’s why.”

Ian’s eyes soften. “There’s just something about you, Mickey.”

Yeah. Well, there’s something about Ian too and Mickey just cant shake it. He isn’t sure he wants too. This might be the worst mistake of his life. Or it could be something. 

Something else. Something good. Something new. Something unexpected. 

Mickey shrugs. “Maybe I like the way you look at me too.”

Ian smiles and Mickey thinks, yeah this is definitely something.


	3. There's no nostalgia here it's just now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say I loved writing this chapter. The boys get closer....
> 
> Comments are love.

_**The kitchens cold and the tea kettle whistles.**_  
 _ **The J Church rolls and rattles our windows.**_  
 _ **There's no nostalgia here it's just now, baby now.**_

__

Mickey isn’t used to living with someone who actually cleans. He’s also not used to living with someone who walks around, lounges around and sleeps in their boxers. It’s a hot summer, Mickey isn’t stupid, but like come on. Ian with the freckles and the pale skin, alien looking hot motherfucker. If Ian didn’t keep the studio so God damn clean Mickey might complain about the lack of clothing. But who the fuck is he kidding? Ian could take a piss on his bed and Mickey wouldn’t give a shit as long as he kept wearing, well, close to nothing. 

Mickey got Ian a job stacking shelves in the library just like he said he could. Nancy, the supervisor, has a soft spot for him and sob stories so she promised Ian 30 hours so he could get insurance because one of the stipulations of letting Ian live with him, was that Ian had to get back on his meds. And no fucking guys for money. If he was being honest, he didn’t really want Ian fucking anyone, but he’s not the guys keeper and who the fuck is Mickey to say Ian can’t go get his rocks off with some granola head?

But Ian doesn’t. At least not that Mickey knows of. Maybe he’s good at hiding it but Ian’s always home. And when he’s not, he’s at the library. Even when he’s not working. He sits in the back of the rare book room and stares at that fucking bible through the glass while Mickey works. It makes Mickey feel some type of way; he’s just not sure what way that exactly is. 

It’s been a month; the July heat creeping in steadily and Mickey spends his nights watching serial killer documentaries or shit on the Discovery channel and usually Ian joins him on his tiny love seat and they drink beer and Mickey enjoys the comfortable silence of having someone in his space. He didn’t realize how lonely he really was until Ian. 

On rare nights they roll a joint and pass it back and forth, their fingers touching and the softness of it all diving into Mickey’s skin and settling their with a low hum. And one night last week they both got so high and drunk they giggled for a half hour straight after some lame car insurance commercial and then continued to cackle laughing for an hour after that to the point that neither of them could breathe. At some point, after they had both settled into Mickey’s king size bed, both on their respective sides, with the silence of the studio wrapping around them, they both started laughing again, starting the whole thing over again. Ian had pressed his face into Mickey’s shoulder that night, invading his side of the bed, and Mickey thinks it may have been the best night of his life. 

They are friends. Ian has opened up to Mickey about his past. Things he’s done in his spurts of mania (stealing his younger brother when he was a baby and taking him across state lines that landed him in a psych ward for a while.) The things he’s done for money (dancing at a gay club and sucking guys off for 25 bucks a pop.) Ian talks about his big family with love and regret. He admits how toxic his mother was but how he still loves her and misses her. He doesn’t hold the same respect for his alcoholic ‘father’ and said one night in the darkness of the studio while lying next to Mickey that he sometimes wonders what his life would have been like if his real father had raised him. 

Mickey opens up too. Usually when he’s had too many beers and Ian’s looking at him with those eyes after he’s told him something deep and it makes Mickey brave in ways he’s not even sure he’s comfortable with. But Mickey spews his past wide open anyway telling Ian about his homophobic Nazi father who beat him and made him scared of everything he was. How the scar above his eye is from a pistol whipping he took after his father had found his gay porn under his floorboards when he was looking for drugs. 

He talks about his brothers and his sister and maybe even says some nice things about them and how if he misses anything about his old life, it’s them. He talks about his 2 stints in juvie and all the illegal shit he used to do for money. Ian gets it. He asks all the right questions and stays silent at the appropriate times. He laughs at the right parts of the story and looks angry at the sadder parts. When Ian mumbles ‘you didn’t deserve that. You’re amazing’ Mickey can’t make eye contact because Mickey actually believes him when he says it. It’s a new feeling, this one Mickey has around Ian. A feeling of contentment. Comfortableness.

A friendship he’s never had before. It imbeds itself inside him and it scares him too in the middle of the night when he wakes up and can feel the heat from Ian’s body next to his. Because he thinks he might be happy and that’s just something Mickey’s never had. There are feelings growing; little sprouts of warmth and need and want that he’s not sure he’s ready for but they’re there, and holding steady on the surface of his skin. 

Other than smiles and an occasional touch on the shoulder and that one weed induced nuzzle, Ian doesn’t show much flirting like he did in the beginning. Mickey figures Ian was putting on that act because he felt like he had to; because that’s usually all men want him for. But once he realizes Mickey just honestly wants to just help him, everything sexual disappears. And Mickey understands, he gets it. Ian needs a friend. He needs safety. Stability. He doesn’t need Mickey grinding on him in the middle of the night no matter how badly he wants to when the light from the moon and streetlights outside cast these beautiful shadows on his beautiful pale skin. 

So any thoughts or feelings Mickey has about wanting things from and with Ian are shoved down deep and ignored as their routine becomes a staple in both their lives. 

But then it changes. Almost in an instant, as Ian is making tea on the tiny two burner stove, the kettle still whistling as Ian pours the steaming water into his cup, he asks a question that Mickey isn’t sure he wants to answer. Or even how to. 

“When was your first kiss?”

Mickey looks up at him from the bed where he’s unlacing his boots and his throat instantly goes dry. They never discussed Mickey being gay since that first time Ian asked and Mickey so skillfully avoided the answer. He isn’t sure if Ian just assumes or honestly doesn’t care anymore. Yeah, he told Ian about the gay porn his dad found…but…nothing was ever discussed in detail. But now he’s asking a simple question that Mickey can’t answer. Not because he doesn’t want to. It’s because he can’t. Because there is no when. Because Mickey never has. Kissed anyone. So what’s the best thing to do in this situation? 

Get annoyed, of course. 

“The fuck you asking, Red?” Mickey hasn’t called him that in weeks and Ian’s forehead creases in confusion at the familiar nickname. 

“It’s just a question. I’m curious.” Ian blows on his tea and stares at him. There’s no where for Mickey really to go in this shoebox he calls a home so he decides to just grab a beer and ignore the question. Mickey sits heavily on the couch and flicks the TV on. Ian’s quiet for a while and Mickey thinks he’s gotten the hint and is letting it go, but then he sits gently on the couch next to him and Mickey can feel the heat from those green eyes. And then Mickey starts to fidget. And clear his throat too many times for it to be normal. Lights a cigarette. All the while, warmth from Ian’s eyes on him. 

“Holy fuck, what?”

And Ian is fucking smiling. “You’ve never kissed anyone have you?”

“Fuck off. None of your business.”

“Mick,” The way Ian says his name like that makes Mickey’s skin tingle and breath hitch and no, he’s not doing this. He can’t do this. 

“Just shut up, Red. Drop it.”

Ian does. He sits back on the couch, sipping his fragrant tea and watches an episode of Ancient Aliens with him. He makes it almost all the way to the end of the episode and to the bottom of his mug before he speaks again. 

“You wanna kiss me?”

It causes Mickey to spit beer out onto his shirt and his eyes to water. He coughs, probably a little dramatically and glares at his room mate. “What? Fuck you! No!”

Ian just shrugs. “Why not? We’re friends. I think you’re cute so it wouldn’t be like a disservice to me or anything. And this way when you finally find someone you wanna kiss, it won’t be so awkward because you’d have already have done it.”

He makes it sound so simple. But it’s not because what Ian doesn’t know is that Mickey may have already found someone he wants to kiss and it’s him but all Mickey can replay in his head is that Ian thinks he’s cute. And he wants to kiss Mickey. 

Ian wants to kiss him. 

Kiss him. 

Kiss. 

“Okay.” Mickey whispers like some little bitch. Because at this point, who fucking cares, right?

It takes forever for Ian to actually do it. He puts down his mug and rubs his large hands on his bare thighs, his boxers bunching up around his strong leg muscles. He’s just staring at Mickey and he knows he’s blushing; heat rising up his neck to his face. Ian looks at his mouth and Mickey involuntarily licks his lips and Ian’s eyes darken for just a second. They are already so close on the damn love seat and all Ian has to do is lean in just a few inches but he’s taking fucking forever so Mickey leans in, saying in his braveness ‘if you’re gonna do it, then do it already’ but Ian leans in even slower and he looks nervous and Mickey is so confused because Ian’s done this a thousand times, he must have and this can’t be a big deal for him. Mickey isn’t sure what the big deal is and…

Oh. 

Ian’s top lip brushes his bottom lip and Mickey breath catches in his throat and Ian just keeps his lips close to Mickey’s; soft pushes of air being shared between them. Mickey leans in to break the distance the second time and he opens his mouth maybe too wide on Ian’s closed lips and it’s clumsy and maybe too wet but this time Ian exhales sharply and Mickey thinks he was wrong last week. 

This is the best night of his life. 

When Mickey leans back Ian’s eyes are closed and Mickey can’t help the small smirk that appears on his lips. When Ian’s eyes flutter open slowly they look glazed and washed over like he’s trying to hold back tears. 

“What’s wrong?” Mickey is suddenly panicking. Was it too much? Is Ian not ready? Mickey is supposed to make him realize he’s more than this; more than just some body for men to touch and use. Fuck. 

Ian just shakes his head and huffs out a small shivering breath. “Nothing. That was…fuck. Mick, that was perfect.”

Mickey raises an eyebrow at him and pulls back away from him. “Come on, man. That was terrible. You don’t gotta lie to save my feelings or some shit.”

Ian practically jumps, taking Mickey’s hand maybe a little too eagerly than Mickey’s used to because no ones ever just held his hand before which causes him to jump in surprise at Ian’s touch. 

“Mickey, no. I’m not lying. I swear. That was everything I thought it would be.”

Mickey snorts. “Oh, cause you’ve thought about kissin’ me a lot or somethin’?”

“Yes.”

And Mickey has nothing to say to that. Literally nothing. There are no thoughts forming. All he can do is just stare at this man sitting on his couch with Mickey’s spit still on his lips and his eyes shining with fondness and Mickey feels like he doesn’t deserve any of that. 

“Kiss me.” Ian pleads with a whisper and if Mickey didn’t know he was falling for him before he knows he is now because he’s asking, not taking. Letting Mickey make the decision. But Ian is also asking for what he wants, instead of having someone just take something from him for once. It’s something that may seem so small to someone outside the room, but to them, in this bubble they’ve made, this home, its everything. 

So Mickey kisses him. He presses his hand against Ian’s cheek softly and Ian leans into his touch before Mickey presses his mouth to his, not as open as before but definitely firmer. Ian kisses him with affection and a hint of need and after a few minutes, Ian’s tongue parts Mickey’s lips and their tips touch ever so gently and even though Mickey knows this isn’t the time, it goes straight to his dick. But when the kiss deepens and there’s just so much tongue, it’s just inevitable. Mickey’s never felt anything like this, as ridiculous as it sounds. He feels high. He’s hot and dizzy and as he wraps his hands around the back of Ian’s skull and feels how fucking soft his hair is, Ian moans and it vibrates through Mickey’s throat all the way down his body. 

He suddenly realizes how many clothes Ian isn’t wearing and breaks the kiss gently and presses his forehead to Ian’s. They catch their breath and Mickey’s relieved to see Ian’s boxers tented and a wet spot has formed at the tip. Mickey swallows down the overwhelming need to go further; to bury his face in Ian’s lap or straddle him right on the small couch so he can feel how hard he is. He can’t. Not now. It’s not what Ian needs so matter how much Mickey wants it. 

“Let’s get some sleep, okay?” Mickey is breathless, practically panting the words hoping Ian doesn’t see this as a sign of rejection or displeasure from what they just spent almost 10 minutes doing. It’s just boundaries and small steps. 

Ian nods against Mickey’s forehead and breaks the warmth between them, standing. Mickey swallows and when Ian holds his hand out for Mickey he looks up into soft green eyes. He hooks his fingers in Ian’s and pauses for just a moment to shut the TV off. He follows Ian to bed, both of them getting into their own sides and Mickey shuts the small lamp off on his side. 

But Ian doesn’t stay on his side. He slowly and gently wraps his arms around Mickey, pushing his chest against Mickey’s back and molding himself to him. Mickey feels a soft kiss on his shoulder and Mickey, without overthinking it, wraps his fingers into Ian’s over his stomach. 

Mickey isn’t sure what is happening between them but it feels like falling and he’s dizzy and lightheaded and all he knows is that this is the best night of his life. 


	4. For once I knew everything that I wanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading. I am really enjoying writing this story. 
> 
> Mickey and Ian hang out somewhere new and grow even closer. Feelings are talked about. And new experiences are had. 
> 
> As always comments are LOVE. 
> 
> And THANK YOU. <3

_**I was a fire that you started  
For once I knew everything that I wanted.** _

“We should go out tonight.”

Mickey places  a very old copy of  The Adventures of Tom Sawyer on the shelf and  doesn’t even bother to turn to look at his...at Ian. 

“Out?”

“Yeah,” He can feel Ian close; the heat of Ian’s body slowly rising on his own skin. “It’ll be fun. What’s wrong with fun?”

Mickey shakes his head and finally turns to look up at the red head. They  hadn't really talked about what happened last week. And it  hasn’t happened since.  It's like they are tip toeing around it. Like if they  acknowledge it, it will erase it out of  existence . It was a perfect thing and neither of them want to wreck it by talking about it. 

“Out, where?”

Ian just shrugs and picks up a copy of Catcher in the Rye. “Could go to a bar.”

Mickey  isn't stupid. He gently takes the book out of Ian’s hands. “A bar, or a club?”

An expression of shock slides over Ian’s features. 

“I see the way you look longingly at the fucking gay club we always pass on the way home. I see right through you, Gallagher.” Mickey shelves the book and then, as if the world tilts on its axis and time stands still, he feels Ian’s breath right there. Right on his neck under his ear.  It's warm and wet as Ian speaks against his skin. 

“How do you always just...see me?”

Mickey swallows loudly. “You’re not  subtle , Red.”

“No, that’s not it. You look at me. Really look at me. You see me.” His mouth is still right there under Mickey’s ear. Not touching, just taking in the heat off Mickey’s skin which is currently on fire with Ian so close to him. 

“Hard not to.” Mickey  almost whispers . Fuck, this is all too much. Ian standing so close. Ian inching his way into his life. Mickey  wasn’t expecting this. He wasn’t even sure he wanted it, but how can he not when Ian’s mouth is just ghosting over the most sensitive part of his body, like  somehow, he already knows it because yeah, Ian sees him too even though Mickey tries so hard for him not to. 

“Then  let's go out tonight. I promise  it’ll be fun. Neither of us have work tomorrow. We can just...have fun.” Ian makes it sound so simple, so easy. And for someone like Ian, it is. But not Mickey. He  can't just be...who he wants to be. Who he is. Having Ian in his life is making some things easier, but going to a club? Walking into a room filled with other gay guys and having them look at him and have them know too? And let alone walking in with someone like Ian.  Tall and beautiful and taking up all the air in the room?  He’s not sure he can do that. If  he’s ready for that. 

“I don’t know man.  Kinda a lot...for me, you know?” Mickey pushes the cart of books up the  aisle , breaking the heat between them. Ian’s quiet for a while behind him but Mickey knows if he turns and looks it at him right now, it will be all over. 

“Yeah, I get it. We can just order some food, maybe watch something on Netflix.” Ian’s voice still sounds chipper, like always, but Mickey, even though he  isn't even sure he wants to know Ian like this, does know that Ian really  doesn’t want to just order food and Netflix it.  It's all they do. Ian never goes out. And he knows he  doesn’t because  he’s trying to better himself and not fall back into old habits because he told Mickey that all the times  he’s told Ian to just get out of the apartment. Mickey is proud of Ian;  he’s told him that too. But what Ian is really saying in this moment, is that Ian wants to go with HIM. He wants to  go have fun and take Mickey with him. That  he’d rather sit home, again, that be somewhere without Mickey. 

And it makes Mickey feel something deep in his chest that  he’s never felt before. It scared him but at the same time is euphoric. 

Happiness.

Mickey lets out a steady breath and turns to look at Ian.  He’s just standing there all tall with his tight tank top showing off his  freckled shoulders and Christ, Mickey just  can't believe this guy is in his life. 

“Nah,  let's go to the club, Red. But I  ain’t dancing.”

And then Ian smiles and Mickey thinks even if  it’s the worst time of his life, that smile alone is all worth it. 

Yeah ,  he’s totally screwed. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~

Yeah , this was a complete mistake. 

The lights are already too much for Mickey’s sensitive eyes and  he’s going to have a migraine in the morning. The speakers are pumping out an obnoxious beat making the floor underneath his feet vibrate and  it's almost like your dancing without permission. The air is thick from bodies everywhere and all Mickey needs right now is a fucking drink.

Ian’s is beaming with excitement as he takes in the room and the lights and the people and  he’s bouncing on the soles of his feet as they order 2  whiskeys at the bar. The bartender is eyeing Ian up as he pours his shot but it's Mickey he winks at when he takes the $10 bill from Mickey’s fingers. 

Mickey frowns visibly and finds Ian smiling at him when he turns back to him. 

“Face it, Mick. You’re hot.”

“Fuck off.”

Ian laughs loudly and downs his shot, swirling it in his mouth before swallowing and Mickey  can't take his off him as he watches the wetness on Ian’s lips and the way his Adam’s apple bounces as he swallows. His neck is long and pale and there are even freckles there too and the flashing lights are reflecting off  them. And Mickey...j ust...fucking...wants him.  It’s a new feeling; Mickey has been horny before. Attracted to guys.  He’s had sex before. In alleys and in the bathrooms of bars. But  he’s never had traditional sex like in a bed where sex is supposed to happen.  He’s never kissed anyone like  you’re supposed too.  He’s never gripped someone’s arms as they fucked him or he fucked them.  He’s never looked into someone’s eyes as they reached their impending climax.

But he wants all those things. He wants them with Ian. 

And Ian’s giving him that look. The look  he’s giving Mickey a few times in the past week. The look because they had kissed. They had fallen asleep in each other’s arms and there is something between them but neither of them really knows what it is yet. But  it's there, under the surface, Its new and promising and fucking terrifying. Ian always looks so confident. In his  appearance and the way he carries himself.  It's something and everything Mickey  isn't . It makes Mickey uncomfortable the way the bartender keeps eyeing him. And Ian is eyeing him the same way but  it's ...it doesn’ t feel the same. When Ian looks at him like that a warmth spreads over him and his skin is tingly and fuck all Mickey wants to do is kiss that smile off his stupid face. 

“You can go dance.” Mickey tells him as he finishes his drink and sets his glass on the bar. He motions for another drink and he know the bartender is looking at him again but all he can do is look at Ian. Ian with the lights making patterns of reds and blues on his white button up short sleeved shirt. Ian with his red hair, wild and messy. Ian with his green eyes looking at Mickey like  he’s the only person in the room. 

“You’re okay with me just going and dancing out there with all those guys without you?”

No.

Mickey just shrugs and sips his new Whiskey. Ian shrugs too and turns and is gone before Mickey can think twice about the mistake he just made. Because before Mickey can even focus his eyes or swallow down his sip, Ian is surrounded by men. And he’s moving his body to the annoying dance music and the guys are so close to him, bodies touching and hips moving and fingers grazing over the skin of his lower arms and Mickey wants to drive his knee into every single one of their dicks to get them away from him. 

But Mickey  can't do that as much as he wants to. His fingers are itching to use his fists on these fucking hipsters faces and stomachs for touching Ian. For thinking they can just do that. That Ian is some piece of meat they can just  manhandle . Ian  doesn’t deserve that. Mickey is supposed to be taking care of him. To show him that he deserves more than some gross touch from a stranger. Ian deserves everything. 

But he  doesn’t belong to Mickey. Mickey is just his friend who to offered to help him. His friend who he shared one of the best nights of his life with; a slew of nights that Mickey replays in his mind over and over. They shared a night of kisses and touches that made Mickey come to life. And Ian is a big boy; in  more ways than one ; and he can handle himself. He  doesn’t need Mickey to go over there and save him from...oh no that guy just grabbed Ian’s dick. Fuck this. 

Mickey is shoving himself in between Ian and the groper in seconds. The guy is taller than him, why the fuck is everyone taller than him? But Mickey holds his ground and pushes the guy back with his chest. “You think  it's okay to just grab him like that? You  wanna fucking die tonight?”

The guy holds up his hands in defeat and turns to find someone else to molest. Mickey watches him go, heart hammering and fists clenched, still ready to beat the shit out of someone. Anyone.  He’s seething with anger. And then Ian is right there, splayed against his back and his mouth right there on his neck again by his ear. Mickey instantly relaxes, just slightly and  has to force his eyes to stay open at the contact. 

“Mickey...” Ian’s saying his name in that way again and he  can't breathe with Ian this close. No,  that’s not what this is.  It's just no one can touch...should touch him that way and Mickey...fuck.

“ Shouldn't grab you like that.” Mickey practically moans when Ian’s lips finally  graze his skin. Ian’s fingers slide to Mickey’s hips, digging into the top of his jeans. 

“My hero.” Ian whispers and then Mickey is spun around and Ian’s mouth is hot and wet against his. Jesus fuck. So, this is happening. Ian’s kissing him in this club with everyone around then and Mickey wants to jerk away.  He’s not ready for this. This  isn't why he came. But Ian’s tongue is so soft and he tastes like cigarettes and Whiskey and Mickey remembers this feeling. The feeling  he’s been chasing all week, and  probably his whole life and he should pull away but he just  can't . 

Mickey flails a little, unsure what to do with his hands but Ian’s are firm and grounding on his lower back and Mickey just needs to feel him and as he slides his fingers along Ian’s jaw a moan erupts from Ian’s open mouth and it goes straight to Mickey’s dick. He pulls away, just barely because breathing is a thing and he presses his forehead to Ian’s chin. He breathes and breathes but  doesn’t break the closeness to Ian. 

“Fuck, Mick. I  can't believe how good you are at that.” 

Mickey forces out a short laugh and looks up into green eyes. “I  can't believe you just kissed me in front of all these fucks.”

“Why? Do you see the way  they’ve been looking at you all night? Fucking driving me crazy.” Ian nuzzles, fucking nuzzles, his face against Mickey’s and he grips the front of Ian’s shirt. 

“You’re the one out here grinding on dicks. Talk about crazy.” 

“Mmm.” Ian murmurs, ghosting his lips over Mickey’s again. “Just wanted you to notice me.”

Mickey lets out a shaky breath and grips tighter on Ian’s shirt. “Fuck, Red. How can I not?”

Then  it's wet and hot and tongues and lips and pushing of hips together and hands and gripping and thrusts and fuck Ian kisses Mickey like  he’s trying to climb inside him. And fuck Mickey wants that.  He’s wanted it for a long time,  probably since the first time he saw him, but they  aren't ready. Well,  Mickey’s not ready. Not because he some scared virgin  it's just...he  doesn’t want to screw this up. This  isn't some rando in an alley. This  isn't some quick fuck at 2am so his father  doesn’t find them. This is Ian. This is his friend.  Maybe the only real friend Mickey’s ever had. And Mickey is more scared to lose that than anything. 

“Ian...Ian...” Mickey pulls back, completely against his will. “We should slow down.”

Ian looks...confused. Hurt even. “You don’t want me?”

“Christ.” Mickey huffs and slides his hands up to Ian’s neck. “Yes. I fucking want you. But this  can't be like that. This  can't be...like everyone else in your life before.”

Ian smiles gently. “Mick, you’re not like anyone else. Don’t you see that? You  actually care about shit like that. You care enough to want to take it slow.  So, if  that’s what you think we should do, we should.”

Mickey swallows and steps back slightly. “Go dance. Have fun. Drink. I’ll be at the bar when you’re done.”

Ian brushes his fingers against Mickey’s cheek and just...smiles. “Yeah, you will,  won't you?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The walk home is... really  quite hilarious. At least to them.

They are stumbling because of the Whiskey and singing because...well probably cause of that too but their arms are around each other and they are laughing and Ian keeps pressing his face into Mickey’s shoulder and fuck. Mickey loves it. He feels  happy and free and light and Ian is warm and smells like sweat and his shirt is all wrinkled and his hair is crazy and sticking  every which way and he keeps looking at Mickey like  he’s .... something . 

Mickey feels like  he’s something. 

It takes Mickey like 4 tries to unlock the apartment door probably because he’s so drunk and nothing to do with the fact that Ian’s chest is pressed against his back and he’s nuzzling the back of Mickey’s neck and Jesus Christ why  won't this door just unlock?

The door pushes open a bit too roughly and they tumble inside and Mickey almost falls on his face but then Ian’s has his arms wrapped around his middle and is pulling him up back against him. Mickey moans, he  can't fucking help it. He  can't help much when it comes to Ian tonight. He watched him dance for hours; arms in the air, bouncing on his feet. Writhing his body in ways that can only make Mickey think of one thing. Sex. Lots and lots of sex in many  different positions . 

“Mickey...” Ian’s saying his name that way again and Mickey is again unable to stop himself from doing the right thing. He presses his ass back against Ian’s crotch and Ian grips his hips tightly as he kicks the door closed behind him. “I know you said slow, and I swear I’m fine with slow but I seriously need to suck your dick right now.”

And then Mickey’s vision goes black. All he heard was suck and dick and maybe it’s the Whiskey or maybe it’s the smell of Ian all around him or maybe  it's just because he’s a 22 year old gay dude who just spend the last 4 hours in a room full of other gay dudes but fuck slow and fuck doing the right thing. Because suck and dick sound  pretty fucking great right now. 

“Fuck. Yes. Please.” Mickey turns and smashes his mouth against Ian’s and its messy and a little painful but neither seem to care because Ian’s pushing Mickey backwards toward the bed and from there Mickey’s brain turns to static.

Ian’s hands on the button of his jeans. Hands sliding down jeaned thighs. Hips lifted and jeans  slowly pulled down over Mickey’s thick thighs that Ian's lust blown eyes drink in and then  there’s his mouth sucking marks on the inside of them. There are curses and ragged breathing as Mickey leans up for Ian’s mouth. He removes his shirt at Ian’s request and even though  he’s fully naked for the first time well with anyone, he feels...attractive because Ian is just looking at him with hooded eyes and he keeps licking his bottom lip and palming himself in his own jeans. Mickey wants to see him. Mickey’s seen it once, that very first week when Ian was a mess and thought all Mickey wanted him for was sex. They have come a long way since then but still he  can't help feel like this might be a mistake. 

But then Mickey’s hands are on Ian's buttons and jeans are sliding down long pale legs and there it is, hard and long and red at the tip.  He’s wet and Mickey knows he is too and  yeah , so he knows Ian said he wanted to suck his cock but  yeah that’s not happening yet. Mickey brings Ian’s hips closer with strong hands and Ian’s breath catches as they look at each other. Mickey needs to know this is okay. He needs to know that Ian  isn't doing this because he thinks he  has to . But Ian gives him a small nod with this look of amazement in his eyes and Mickey just feels...good. So, fucking good. 

This is something else Mickey’s never done and it makes his insides warm to know that  he’s now experiencing two things for the first time with Ian.  He’s had his own dick sucked before, by  men and women , but  he’s never done it before.  It's always felt too intimate, too much, too gay, but  it's all he wants to do right now. He just wants Ian. All of him. He just presses  an open mouth kiss to the tip of Ian’s cock, the wetness sliding over lips. He can taste the saltiness of it and fuck its good. Ian moans, fingers sliding onto the back of Mickey’s head and yes, yes, yes. 

Mickey licks. He kisses. He scrapes his teeth gently over Ian’s dick. He takes his time. He feels the vein on the underside of Ian’s cock on his tongue. He smells the muskiness of Ian invade his senses. When Mickey finally takes Ian’s length into his mouth and down his throat, Mickey suddenly gets it. He gets why this is important. Why  it's hot. Why gay men like to do this. Feeling the weight of Ian on his tongue. How full his mouth feels as Ian grips the back of Mickey’s head and keeps chanting his name over and over. Mickey can feel the spurts of wetness on his tongue when he sucks a little harder at his tip and his length  throb when Mickey gently rolls his balls between his fingers. 

“Mick, holy fuck. Mickey...” Mickey brings his hand up to work with his mouth and he gets 3 solid strokes in before Ian is digging his blunt fingernails into the back of Mickey’s head, a warning, but Mickey just hollows his cheeks and sucks harder as Ian’s thick and loud orgasm floods his mouth. Its dirty, and new, and a bit too much to swallow all at once but Mickey does the best he can. When Ian’s spent cock slips from Mickey’s mouth, he can feel some  remnants of his release on the side of his mouth so he just sticks his tongue out to lick it. Ian groans, loud and pushes Mickey onto his back on the bed. Ian’s half on the bed, half off, just like Mickey but  he’s kissing him, messy and so fucking hot and Mickey just wraps his arms around the tall giant of a man and lets Ian taste himself on his tongue. 

“Jesus, Mick.” Ian murmurs against Mickey’s mouth, still trying to catch his breath. Mickey can feel himself blush and Ian’s face contorts into a curious expression. “Oh my God, was that the first time you did that?”

Mickey bites at his bottom lip and focuses on this one large freckle on Ian’s shoulder. Ian buries his head in his neck and sighs heavily. “Mickey...where have you been?”

Mickey swallows down a thousand things he can see. A thousand feelings lifting to the surface readying themselves to unleash themselves out into the universe. So instead he decides on, “Waiting for you.”

It’s the most honest  he’s ever been with anyone in his life. And  yeah its cheesy and teenage Mickey from Southside Chicago would never have even thought of anything like that and would have beat the shit out of anyone the way Ian is looking at him right now, but this Mickey, the Mickey with this beautiful, smart, vibrant and confusing man on top of him says shit like that to someone he cares about. 

Because  it’s the truth. 

Ian just sighs at Mickey’s words and slides down his body, leaving  open mouth kisses along the way. One to the chest. Two above his heart. A flick of his tongue on both nipples that makes Mickey bucks his hips up and almost knock Ian on his ass. A long lick down his stomach. Ian’s taking his time getting to his dick and Mickey thinks he may die because Ian is going to do this slowly and  he’s already so on edge just from blowing Ian that he  doesn’t think  he’s going to last....

But holy fucking shit that is not what Ian does. Ian takes him right down to the root and just sucks. Hollowed cheeks, long laving, hand cupping Mickey’s balls. Ian’s head is bobbing up and down so fast, his mouth  literally sucking the life out of Mickey’s body that Mickey  can't even get a good grip on the back of his head. He needs something to grab onto, ground him, so he settles on the sheets and practically rips them off the corners as Ian works his release to the surface. There is so warning. There is no way to tell Ian  he’s cumming because all he can do is  writhe and moan until his throat is dry. But he floods Ian’s mouth and at the first taste of his orgasm, Ian deep throats him and when his tip hits the back of Ian’s throat he  literally screams . 

Minutes pass,  maybe hours , who the fuck knows, and when Mickey blinks his eyes back open, Ian is lying beside him just looking at him with, eyes glazed over.

“Hey, you’re back.” Ian smiles gently and runs his fingers through Mickey’s hair on his forehead. 

“Hey.” Mickey croaks out, suddenly  embarrassed . 

“That was great.” 

Mickey gives a small nod and looks up at the ceiling,  gnawing at his lower lip. 

“What’s wrong?” Ian slides closer to him and Mickey instantly tenses. He  doesn’t know  what’s wrong with him so there is no way to answer him. He just swallows a couple times. 

“Nothing. Tired. Still a little drunk.” Mickey sits up and shuffles for his boxers on the floor. He feels Ian’s hand on his back, gentle and warm.

“Are you...mad at me? Did I make you do something you didn’t want?”

Mickey closes his eyes and rubs the heels of his hands into them. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I just...” Mickey clears his throat but keeps his back to Ian. “This wasn’t supposed to happen, you know?  I’m trying to help you.  I’m trying to show you that you  don’t need to fuck every guy that thinks  you're hot. That you can have a friend and not have them expect anything from you. I was just trying...and I’m not sure...I don’t know what I’m...” Mickey trails off because he  can't form the million things that are going on in his head into words. 

“Mickey.” Ian scoots down until  he’s sitting next to Mickey on the bed. “Mickey, look at me.”

It takes him a while, but Mickey finally does. And Ian looks...happy. Which is the opposite of what Mickey must look like. 

“You are helping me. And I  don’t think you want anything from me in return.  You’re kind and  funny and complicated and rough. And I  didn’t expect this to happen. I  didn’t expect to walk into the fucking library and meet you. But I did and I  wouldn’t change it. And I love living here with you. And  you’ve made me realize  I’m better than what I had been through and what I had done to myself. You are my friend. You’re my best friend.”

Mickey gives him a small smile. 

“And  it's because of all of those things that makes me realize how hard I’m falling for you.”

Mickey stops breathing. 

“What?”

“Come on, you didn’t know? You don’t feel this.” Ian motions between us and Mickey’s brain goes offline for a second. No one falls for Mickey. No one sees him, the real him, and  actually likes him. He was stretching it thinking he could even have a friend, but this? This  doesn’t happen to him. He  doesn’t get beautiful men in his bed who holds him and looks at him like this. He gets hand jobs in dirty bar bathrooms and quiet in the closet sex next to dumpsters. He  doesn’t get someone like Ian.

“Thought it was just me. Thought  maybe you were just horny or whatever the fuck. Two gay dudes living in such a small space. Bound to happen and shit.” Mickey shrugs, suddenly aware of how naked Ian still is. 

“We are two gay dudes living in such a small space. And it was your space until I got here but now it feels like ours. I want it to be ours. I like my life for the first time in a long time. I feel  safe and happy and stable and  you’re the reason for that. And I  didn’t blow you or kiss you to thank you for all  you’ve done. I did it because I wanted to. Because I want us. I want you, Mickey.”

Ian looks so open. So secure in who he is.  It's something Mickey has never been familiar with. But for the first time he feels okay. He feels okay sitting next to a naked man, his body still buzzing from pleasure. He feels okay with the fact that he just stumbled home drunk with a man on his arm. He feels okay that he kissed this  man in a gay club. 

Mickey feels okay, and  yeah ,  that’s cause of Ian. So  maybe they’ve helped each other get somewhere they never thought  they’d be.

“You make me happy, man.” Mickey whispers. Ian practically purrs next to him and buries his face in Mickey’s shoulder.  It's like he fits perfectly there and Mickey has never felt something so good in his entire life. 

They fall asleep facing each other that night. Holding hands, faces inches away from one another. They just stare for a while; green eyes holding blue;  until they fall heavy from alcohol and exhaustion. Mickey falls asleep and for the first time in his life things might be okay. 

But it takes just three days for things to not be okay. 


	5. Love no one cares about the stories their not in...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things fall apart. Mickey tries to put it back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long. It was a hard one for me to write. I hope you enjoy it though. Thank you ALL for reading and commenting. It means the world to me. 
> 
> Comments are, as always, LOVE.

  
  
  
  
The thing is Mickey knows fear. He knows pain and sadness and the weight of feeling like you will never get out from under the devastation of your own life. He knows what it's like to not know when the next time you will eat again and to shiver in your sleep at night because the heats been shut off because your poor excuse for a father drank away all the money for the heating bill. Mickey knows what it's like to flinch every time his father passed him or to always look over his shoulder, even now, when walking down the street because all he has known his entire life is violence. 

It's been a year since Mickey has been away from the source of his fear, and even though he’s let himself possibly be happy for the first time in his entire life, he always knew, deep down, that the other shoe would drop. That just because he left the chaos and the trauma behind, somehow, someway, the fear would return and leave Mickey wounded and unable to breathe. 

The plastic chairs are making his ass fall asleep and he’d keep pacing but he knows its pissing the nurses off and he doesn’t want to do that because then they won't tell him anything, so he’s been sitting in this fucking chair for the past hour. His cuticles and bloody and exposed from gnawing at them. He keeps bouncing his leg, which oddly enough isn't helping his ass situation, and every time a door opens or a white coated person walks by, he looks up, anxious, practically panting like an excited dog. 

But finally, finally, after 4 cups of coffee and losing feeling in his legs almost completely, he hears his name being called from down the hallway. He stands, his knees almost giving out from under him. 

“Yes! Yes, I’m Mr. Milkovich.” 

The gray-haired doctor, Dr. Hartman from his name tag, gives Mickey a once over. He’s used to it; it’s the tattoos and his overall ‘don't fuck with me’ demeanor. But the Doctor gives him a soft look when he can sense the anxiety and fear radiating off Mickey’s skin. 

“He’s sedated. He’s going to be out of it for a while, while we readjust his medication. Can you tell me anything about the situation before you brought him here?” 

Mickey swallows and tries to remember, tries to think of something, anything before it got really bad that he could have done differently. Seen differently. Felt differently. But he comes up empty which makes him feel helpless and hopeless and like a total piece of shit. 

“I don’t know...I... things were fine. He was working and we were normal. And then...” Mickey lets out a long-stuttered breath. 

“Can I ask what your relationship is to Mr. Gallagher?” 

Mickey almost laughs. What does he say? What can he really say? Friend? Roommate? Friend with benefits? Does he tell the doctor he found Ian when he was homeless and fucking guys for money? Does he tell him everything? Shouldn’t he? He doesn’t fucking know. 

“Um...we live together.” Is what he finally answers. The doctor just nods. 

“Did you know about Mr. Gallagher's disorder?” Mickey nods and scrubs his hand over his face. 

“Yeah, he told. I knew what meds he was on because I picked them up for him sometimes from the pharmacy. I got him a job so he could get insurance. I don’t understand. He was fine and then...” Mickey remembers coming home 2 days ago and Ian being in bed. Not moving. Not eating. Not speaking. He had wet the bed and when Mickey tried to get him to move so he could change the sheets Ian screamed and cursed at him and smacked him in the face. Mickey visibly shudders and shakes his head. “Did I do this? Did I do something wrong? Should I have seen it? A sign? Something?” 

The doctor gives Mickey a soft look. “No, Mr. Milkovich. Bipolar is a hell of a disorder. Unpredictable, even on medication. It’s a constant battle. Sometimes the medication just stops working and it needs to be readjusted. You did the right thing. You got him here. That’s all that matters.” 

“He hates me.” Mickey whispers. “He’s gonna hate me.” 

“No, I promise you anything he said to you was all the depressive episode. It's going to be a tough road. For both of you. And this may happen again. But as long as you keep in mind, and Mr. Gallagher does too, that this is just something that happens sometimes, and will probably happen again, you both will be okay. Do you know if this is the first time this has happened?” 

Mickey shakes his head. “I don’t know. I haven't known him long. I know he just moved here a few months ago. I know a little, but not all of it.” It makes Mickey feel even worse to know all the things he doesn’t know about Ian. How he didn’t ask the right questions. That he should have asked more questions about his disorder. But Ian never seemed like he wanted to talk about it. He was taking his meds, as promised, and Mickey thought that was enough. But it wasn’t. And Mickey didn’t even know it wasn’t. “I should have known.” Mickey whispers. 

The doctor just gives him a small smile. “There’s nothing you could have done. Please trust me on this. This isn't like knowing to bundle up in cold weather so you don’t get a cold. This cannot be prevented. Mr. Gallagher's is fighting a constant battle within his mind. And sadly, sometimes it wins.” 

Mickey nods but it's like he’s underwater. He failed. He promised Ian he would take care of him. That he’d be safe. That there would be no more fear. But he broke his promise. When Mickey had called the ambulance, Ian looked at him like he hated him. Like he was scared. He never wanted Ian to look like that again, especially because of him. But he had to, right? He did the right thing. Right? 

“Can I see him?” 

The doctor motions down the hallway. “He’s sedated like I said and visiting hours are over but I can give you 5 minutes. Then you can come back tomorrow after we reevaluate him and possibly move him upstairs.” 

“Wait. To like the psych ward?” Mickey stops abruptly and grabs the doctor's arm without even thinking. 

“It might be a possibility, yes. But like I said, we won't know until...” 

“No! No fucking way. He’s staying with me. I can take care of it. I’m the only one he has. He’s my...” Mickey swallows, hard. “He’s my family. We are all we have.” 

“Mr. Milkovich, I promise all of this is in Mr. Gallagher's best interest. But it's not set in stone. It's just an option. Why don’t you go see him for a few minutes, ease your mind, okay? We can talk more tomorrow, after we know more.” 

Mick agrees, still seething with anger that they want to fucking commit Ian. That’s now why he did this. That’s not why Mickey brought him here. He just didn’t know what else to fucking do. He wouldn’t move. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t talk to Mickey unless he was screaming at him to leave him alone. Mickey has to get them a new mattress now because.... them...is there even still a them? 

The doctor motions toward a heavy door and leaves Mickey standing in front of it and he’s never felt more alone. He doesn’t even know anything about the family Ian left behind. He’s heard some names; Fiona, Lip...he thinks. But other than that... 

Mickey realizes in this moment how selfish he is. He just wanted to be with Ian. He didn’t try hard enough to know the important things. He was too busy trying to be the hero. Trying to just get Ian to stay, that he didn't push for anything in the fear, there it is again, of doing something that would make Ian leave. But all that ends now. Because Mickey realizes that it doesn’t matter if Ian leaves. What matters is that Ian is safe, really safe, and if that means it's not with him, then Mickey will deal with that. Somehow. 

Mickey pushes open the door and he can already feel the wetness threatening to escape his eyes. He can hear the beeping of the heart monitor and see the crisp white of the sheets. It takes him almost a full minute to actually look at Ian. He closes the door gently behind him and stutters out a few puffs of air from his lungs and Ian looks like he’s just sleeping. Because he is, technically. He’s sedated; on who knows what kind of fucking drugs; but he had to be because when the EMT’s came Ian started screaming and thrashing and kicking. 

Mickey has always known fear. But he had never been so scared than in that moment. 

He grips the white sheet in his hand as he looks down at the man that came into his life like a fucking tornado. He’s beautiful and magnetic and so many things Mickey isn't. He’s changed Mickey in such a short amount of time and Mickey isn't sure he’d ever be able to let that go. Let Ian go. But he knows Ian is sick. He knows Ian needs more than Mickey can give him. But fuck does Mickey want to. He wants to give him everything. Take care of him. Sickness and health and all that bullshit. Which is crazy right? He’s only known Ian 2 months. That’s crazy to think this way. 

Mickey closes his eyes and wraps his hand around Ian’s. And he can't stop it. The tears come. It’s a silent sob; the wreckage of the past few days finally spilling out from deep within his chest. His knees are weak and his shoulders slump and he just cries. He’s holding Ian’s hand probably too hard and Mickey’s shirt is wet now from all the tears, but nothing could take him away from this spot right now. Mickey doesn’t give a shit about visiting hours. Fuck that. 

After about 20 minutes, when the tears have finally stopped, Ian stirs and his eyes blink open slowly. He looks scared for a moment; the bright lights making him wince and look away aggressively. But then his eyes meet Mickey’s and like a slow drain letting the bath water out, his expression softens. 

“Mickey...” Ian breathes out. Mickey can tell he’s still sort of out of it. His eyes are glassy and he’s got this goofy look on his face Mickey’s never seen before. “Why are you crying?” 

“Scared me, man.” 

Ian squeezes Mickey’s hand. “You’re here.” 

“Where else would I be?” 

“Did I hurt you?” 

Mickey shakes his head. 

“I scared you, though.” 

Mickey nods. 

“Sorry.” 

“Don't be sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t see something was wrong. I’m sorry I didn’t ask more questions. I was too wrapped up...I won't do that again. Just don’t fucking hate me, okay? I had to do something. I couldn’t...you were...I...” 

Ian shushes him and rubs his cheek against the stiff pillow case. “Stop, Mick. Stop. I should have told you more. I shouldn’t have just come into your life with all this baggage and not tell you exactly what you were getting into. It's my fault. Not yours.” 

Mickey leans down and presses his forehead to Ian’s. “No. None of this is your fault, okay? And I’m gonna be here. I promise. Whatever happens. Whatever it takes.” 

Ian hums a happy little noise and rubs his nose against Mickey’s. “These are good drugs.” 

Mickey huffs a small laugh out. Ian’s okay. It's nice to see the faint sign of the Ian he knows is still in there somewhere. And for a moment it makes him feel like things might be okay. 

But they aren't. Mickey knows that. Deep down he feels it in the pit of his stomach. Ian is a long way away from okay. 

And he couldn’t have been more right. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

“You gonna be okay here while I go to work?” 

Ian glares at him from across the small counter in the small kitchen of their small studio. Mickey has never realized just how small a space this is until he had a bipolar red head living with him trying to adjust to new meds that he fucking hates and spends most of his awake hours giving Mickey nasty looks and snapping at him. 

“Yes. I can take care of my fucking self. I don’t need you hovering all the time!” Ian screams and slams the bathroom door. 

Mickey sighs, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees a mixture of blues and yellows. Yeah, that’s about how it's been for the past week. They had adjusted Ian’s meds at the hospital and after a 72 hour watch they allowed him to come home. The doctor had warned both of them that Ian would have mood swings as the new medication began to take its affect, but Mickey didn’t realize Ian would be so...mean. And Mickey knows mean. He’s mean. Well, he used to be. Until...he met Ian. 

Ian is angry all the time. Mostly at Mickey but really just at everything. And 2 mornings ago, Mickey had woken up to Ian’s hard dick against his ass and it took every ounce of self-control to tell Ian maybe they shouldn’t be doing that right now. That they should wait until he was fully back to himself and that made Ian break 2 dishes and spend 4 hours in the bathroom. Mickey is trying. Fuck, he’s trying, but this is just really fucking hard. He’s doing and saying all the wrong things. He either asks or says too much or doesn’t ask anything or say anything. Either way Ian is pissed. All the time. 

Mickey feels like a stranger in his own home. He feels more alone than he did when he first moved here because then he didn’t know the feeling of having someone. He didn’t know what it would feel like to have a friend. To have someone like Ian come into his life and change everything about it. And now that he doesn’t have that; have the same feeling he did for the past 2 months; he feels empty. Mickey knows Ian is just going through something. That this isn't the real Ian. He’s healing. But there is this fear, deep inside him, that the Ian that’s been here for 2 months isn't the real Ian. That this is. That the Ian that Mickey had fallen for was the manic Ian. And it's not that Mickey doesn’t want Ian if he isn't like that. He does. He wants Ian no matter what. But what if this Ian, the real Ian, doesn’t want Mickey? What if the mania is what liked Mickey? What if this Ian, stable on the right meds and trying to get his life back together, isn't the Ian that wants Mickey? 

Mickey is kind of just existing right now. Trying to give Ian what he needs even though he’s pretty sure Ian has no idea what he needs right now. 

Mickey is picking his keys up off the counter when he hears the bathroom door open. 

“Why are you doing this?” Ian’s voice sounds so small. So, defeated. 

“Doing what?” Mickey sighs. He’s tired. He’s so fucking tired. 

“This is who I am. What I’m always going to be. I’m fucking crazy. And I can tell you already have feelings for me and I’m not great with the whole monogamy thing. I pretty much stick my dick in anyone.” 

Mickey flinches and takes deep breathes to curve his anger. He knows Ian is just trying to hurt him. Trying to get him to just let him go. 

“If that’s what you want to do. I never asked you for anything, Ian. I tried to stop whatever this was...” 

“Oh, so it's my fault now? Because I can't keep my dick in my pants? You think I’m some sort of slut?” 

“No.” Mickey says slowly. How did he get here? How did this happen? “Do you want to leave?” Mickey asks, juggling the keys in his hand. 

“Don't you think it's better if I do? Is this really what you want? Me treating you like a piece of shit until I feel better? And then things being good for a while and then you having to drag me back to the psych ward when I piss the fucking bed again!?” Ian’s flailing and pacing and Mickey feels like he has emotional whiplash. 

“I want you to want to do what you want.” Mickey answers quietly. 

“I don’t know what I want.” Ian whispers. 

“Good. That makes two of us.” Mickey closes the door, maybe a bit too aggressively, behind him. 

~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Mickey knows this isn't Ian’s fault. But it isn't Mickey’s fault either. They are both just in a really fucking shitty situation. Ian’s trying to find himself again through all the haze of the new drugs and Mickey is just trying to find a minute where he doesn’t feel like his chest is about to explode. Mickey used to love coming home after a long day at the library. He would come home to a cold beer and a rerun of Forensic Files. And then for the past 2 months, he came home to Ian. Who smiled and laughed and was the best thing to ever happen in Mickey’s shitty little world. 

But now Mickey dreads going home. Not because he doesn’t want to see Ian. Even through all this, coming home and finding Ian there is the best part of his day. It’s the pain he can see Ian in. The battle he has with himself from minute to minute. 

Mickey opens the door quietly, just in case Ian’s taking a nap to find him sitting Indian style on the couch. The TV is off. There is no music playing. It's just Ian. In the silence of the studio. Mickey takes a deep breath and drops his keys and wallet on the counter. He goes for a beer and cracks it open and waits. Because he knows something is coming. The past week has been the quiet before the storm. He knows that. The outbursts were nothing compared to what is coming. 

Mickey decides to just bite the bullet and sits next to Ian gently. 

“I want you here. I want you here when you’re mean. I want you here when you’re nice. I want you here when you won't get out of bed. And I want you here when you’re bouncing off the walls. I don’t care if you wanna go fuck guys. We don’t...we aren't...I don’t expect...fuck. I’m your friend. I promised you that I’d be your friend. That I’d help you. Because I don’t want you living on the fucking street man. But if you wanna go because YOU wanna go, then go. But don’t go because you think it's what I want. Or that it’ll be easier on me or some shit. I’ve been through worse. This doesn’t scare me. I just...want you here, okay? The choice is yours.” 

Ian is quiet for a long time. When he finally looks at Mickey there are tears in his eyes. “The only time I’m not scared is when you’re with me. And I get mad and I yell and I feel like I want to rip my insides out because the meds make me feel so fucking hollow. And I’m afraid that I’ll always be scared. And that you’ll realize that I’m not what you want. Even as a friend. Because I’m too much. And then I’ll be afraid again.” 

“I won't. I won't think you’re too much. Yeah, I might get frustrated Ian, but fuck, I’m no picnic either you know. I’m grumpy and messy and I’m the exact opposite of you. But I care about you and I’m not gonna run away just because you hit a bump in the road. I’d take a million days like those 3 when you wouldn’t get out of bed for just one day like it was. Just to see you smile again.” Mickey rubs his bottom lip. “You’re under my skin man. The fuck do I do?” 

And then Ian smiles. It's not quite like his old smile, but it's pretty fucking close. And for the first time in weeks Mickey feels like he can breathe. He wraps his hand around the back of Ian’s neck and pulls him into him. Ian goes willingly; flopping into Mickey’s arms like a rag doll and then Mickey can feel the sobs escaping Ian’s chest against his. Mickey just holds him; running his fingers through the back of Ian’s hair. Pressing his nose into Ian’s neck and lets Ian cling to him. And he lets Ian cry. He lets Ian get out everything he’s been holding inside for so long. His fear. His anger. His sadness. Everything. 

Mickey can't do much. But he can do this. He can hold Ian when he needs him to. And he can let him slam doors and yell to get his frustrations out when the meds are making him feel empty. Mickey can do that. It’s the easiest thing Mickey’s ever done. It makes Mickey feel crazy in his own right; how someone he’s only known for 2 short months can become the most important thing in the world to him. It doesn’t make sense; its erratic and too fast but Mickey literally can't help it when Ian’s is like Jell-O in his arms right now. 

“I don’t want to ruin your life.” Ian mumbles into Mickey’s shoulder. “I’m gonna end up hurting you. Trust me. I’ve done it before. Boyfriends. I can't always control this. What if I fuck someone else? What if I hurt you like that? I can't. I can't hurt you like that.” Ian sobs more, clinging to the front of Mickey’s t-shirt. 

“Don't worry about that shit right now. Who knows if you’ll even...if we will...just focus on getting the meds working again? Okay. And then you can go back to work or find something else other than the library. Maybe find your own place...” Mickey swallows the knives in his throat down at the words he’s saying. Ian pulls back, his eyes so green from the tears. 

“You don’t want me to live here anymore?” 

“No, no I didn’t say that. But you don’t know how you’re gonna feel once everything is under control again. You might want to go someplace else. Another city. Home. Who the fuck knows, you know? I’m just saying.” Mickey hates himself for saying this shit. But it isn't about what he wants, what he needs. It's about Ian. And for once Mickey is going to think about someone other than himself. He’s gone this long alone; he can keep doing it. He might have to. 

“Mickey...” Ian whispers, pressing his forehead against Mickey’s. “You are my home.” 

Mickey practically whimpers at Ian’s words, but he keeps his composure because in the long run Ian is still sick. He’s not completely out of the woods with this. Yeah, right now, this may feel right to Ian. Safe. But he could wake up a week from now and realize this isn't where he supposed to be. 

“Just get better, okay? I’ll be here as long as you need me.” 

Ian nods and lays his head against Mickey’s shoulder. They both fall asleep like that on the small sofa. Mickey’s body slides into sleep feeling like he and Ian are the only two people in the world and the four walls of this apartment is all they need. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~* 

“Hey.” Ian puts his book down on the bed and sits up as Mickey enters the apartment two weeks later. Mickey notices how much better Ian looks. His color has come back into his cheeks and his smile has returned. 

“Hey.” Mickey sets down a bag of food on the counter. “I picked up Thai. You hungry?” He starts to take out bowls from the cabinet when he feels Ian’s strong hands on his waist. Ian’s breath is warm and soft against the back of his neck. “Ian...” He warns. 

“I missed you.” Ian presses the softest kiss behind Mickey’s ear and he feels his knees go week from Ian’s touch. 

“Don't...” Mickey pleads. He can't do this. He can't. He wants to. Fuck he wants to. He missed Ian too. The soft touches. The kisses. The way Ian holds him at night. Ian’s been keeping his distance, the two of them finding their way again. Talking, watching tv together. Ian is even due to start back up at the Library on Monday. Things have been better. Ian’s been better. And Mickey has his friend back. But this...Ian being this close, putting his mouth on him. He isn't sure he can go back down that road. Not to have it taken away from him again. Mickey knows they have barely done anything; fuck they haven't even had sex yet. But...Mickey feels more about Ian than some back-alley fuck. Ian isn't some blow job in a bar bathroom. He isn't what Mickey is used to. What Mickey used to want. 

What Mickey wants is Ian. All Ian is. All he was. All he will be. Ian might end up being the only person Mickey will ever care about. Because once Ian leaves, and Mickey knows he eventually will, Mickey will go back to who he was before. Back to his wall around himself, just living every minute just to survive. It will be better that way. So no, Ian can't rub circles on his sides under his t-shirt. Ian can't hold him like this; like Mickey is the only thing in the world Ian wants. He just can't. 

“I ruined this, didn’t I?” Ian finally asks stepping back. Mickey grips the countertop tightly. 

“No. You didn’t. I did.” 

“How can you say that?” Ian whispers. 

“Because I let it get this far. We were just supposed to be friends. And I... I fucked it up. Let my own wants get in the way. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t need to touch me.” Mickey can't turn around. He can't look at him. 

“I want to touch you.” 

“Right now, you do. What happens like you said a few months from now? And something happens and you wanna fuck someone else? The thought of...” Mickey swallows hard, his hands shaking against the counter. “If we stop this and you end up being with someone else, I’ll handle it. But if you touch me one more time...and then you...I won't...I won't be able to take that, Ian. So please, just....don't. Please.” 

“I think I’m in love with you.” Ian blurts out. Mickey feels tears brimming in the corners of his eyes and he squeezes them shut. 

“I’ll never leave you.” Mickey promises. “I will be here. Every day. I will help you and get you out of bed when you can't do it yourself. I’ll take you to the hospital. I’ll watch fucking reality TV with you and I'll be the best friend you’ve ever had. But don't promise me things you know you can't give me. I’m okay with it. I am.” 

“Tell me you don’t love me.” Ian pleads. Mickey can feel him still so close to him. He can feel his heat and the confusion radiating off of him. 

“I can't do that.” Mickey tells him. 

“Then what’s the problem?” Ian presses his chest against Mickey’s back. He lays his hands on the counter next to Mickey’s. 

“Because if I let you in, really let you in, and I lose you...if I lose you in that way, I will never be able to go back. If I let myself love you...and this doesn’t work out, I’ll lose my best friend too. And I can't come back from that.” 

“What can I do to prove it to you? I’m gonna fuck up, Mick. You will too. Not just from my fucking bi-polar. I’m gonna fuck up other ways too. We aren't perfect. But if we promise each other, if we promise we will always come back to this moment. To remember this moment, when we...when we finally told each other how we really felt...” Ian presses closer to Mickey. 

“Are you sure? Ian...you could have anyone.” 

“So, could you.” 

Mickey laughs. “Right. The Southside closeted thug with the knuckle tattoos and the tendency for violence. I’m a real catch.” 

“Good thing I caught you then.” Mickey can feel Ian’s smile against the side of his neck. Fuck it feels good. Ian feels so fucking good. 

“Tell me.” Mickey pleads. 

“I love you.” Ian says. So forcefully. So sure of himself. Mickey envies it. “Is it enough?” 

Mickey turns in Ian’s arms and looks up at him. 

Is it? Is this promise right here, right now, enough?


	6. We'll fade out to whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone visits Ian. Mickey gets protective. And Ian and Mickey take their relationship to the next level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read this fic. We are nearly at the end. This is the last chapter until the epilogue. 
> 
> Thank you for all the love and support and as always comments are <3

  
  
  
  
Mickey knew Ian’s family is in Wisconsin. He knew that his older sister, Fiona, raised him and the rest of his siblings since they were young. He knew they ended up in Wisconsin when Ian was just a teenager, a young one at that, after his mother slit her wrists in the kitchen and DYFS stepped in and Fiona was granted guardianship because their mother was obviously out of her mind and their father was a drunk abusive bastard. Fiona followed her boyfriend, all the siblings in toe, and they settled in Wisconsin. He knows Ian was just shy of 20 when he took off. Mickey knows that it was right before then that he was diagnosed with the same disease that made his mother slice her skin open on a fucking holiday. And he knows that Ian hasn’t talked to his siblings in almost 2 years. 

At least that’s what he thought. 

But what Mickey doesn’t know, not until Lip Gallagher is standing in front of him, is that before Ian restarted his life in Wisconsin, the Gallagher clan had been living not 4 blocks from him in Chicago. Mickey might have remembered Lip from school, if Mickey had actual attended school. And yeah, he had heard of Frank Gallagher. Who the fuck hadn't living in the southside? But Mickey never put two and two together when he learned Ian’s last name. Maybe he should have. Maybe he had asked Ian where he had grown up before Wisconsin. But he didn’t. He didn’t ask a lot of questions he should have. But Mickey was a private person and he was never one to dive into past crap. And he could tell Ian was leaving a lot of pain behind, another thing Mickey knew a lot about, so why would he push and make Ian relive something that he obviously wanted to forget? 

But Lip is reaming into him about all the things Mickey didn’t do. Not once mentioning or acknowledging all the things he did do. He kept Ian safe. Gave him a place to live. Because Lip doesn’t know what Ian was doing, where he was before he met Mickey. And honestly, Mickey doesn’t either. 

“How’d you know where he was?” Mickey asks, lighting a cigarette and offering one to the man yelling at him. But Lip takes it and take a few long drags before answering. 

“Ian called. Few days ago. Told me he had found a home. Told me he was taking his meds. Told me he missed us but we didn’t need to worry because he found happiness.” Mickey feels the heat of a blush warming his cheeks. “I’m guessing that’s you?” 

Mickey swallows. “I did what I could.” 

“You love him?” 

Mickey scoffs and thumbs at his bottom lip. “Been like 3 months man.” 

“So? Listen, the thing about my brother? It's like...he’s some sort of magnet. People are just drawn to him. And not all of them are good people, you know? Ian attracts...these guys that just take from him. And he gives and gives and then he’s left with nothing. And the bi-polar doesn’t help. They don’t care, these fucking guys. And I guess...the thing...the thing I’m fucking worried about is if you’re one of those fucking people.” Lip looks...lost. Scared. Tired. Like maybe he had been looking for Ian the past 2 years. Maybe he had. Who the fuck knows? 

“Listen, it's not my story to tell. All I can tell you is when I met Ian, he was...not where he should be, okay? So I got him a job. I let him stay with me. And he was doing good but then, yeah, shit got bad. He had an episode. Even though he was taking his fucking pills. He was. I made sure. It was the rule. He could stay as long as he got himself right. But I guess he’s never gonna be totally right. No matter what people do for him. But he made it. He fought and he got new pills. And now we’re...he’s just...he kept going. Back to work and shit.” Mickey waves at the library behind him. “But what he don’t need is you busting into the place where he fucking works yelling and screaming at him.” 

“Yeah, well. It's what we Gallagher’s do.” Lip laughs a little. 

“Yeah, I know all about yelling families.” Mickey murmurs. 

“You’re one of Terry’s, aren't you?” 

Mickey literally shudders at the name. “Looked into me, huh?” 

“Yeah. Sorta. But as soon as Ian told me your name. I knew. Ian was too young to really remember many people from the neighborhood. We got out before all that shit seeped into his bloodstream. But your dad, man,” Lip lets out a long whistle. “What a scumbag.” 

“Yeah, he really was.” 

“When did you move out here?” 

Mickey swallows. “Little over a year ago. After he almost beat me to death.” He looks Lip right in the eye and clears his throat. “After he found out I was gay.” 

Lip huffs out a small laugh and looks up at the sky, squinting. ” Sounds like Terry.” 

Mickey doesn’t respond to that remark. Instead replies, “I do, you know.” Lip looks at him, really looks at him. He skims his body up and down and seems to be searching Mickey’s face for something. A tell of a lie. A tick of confusion. Something. But he must not find anything. 

“I know.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*  
  
They all go to dinner. Mickey isn't sure why he had to go. He thought maybe Ian and Lip should go alone, talk and shit, but Ian insisted. 

“Lip wants to know about my life. You’re a part of my life.” 

Mickey grumbled but eventually gave in, because he always does when it comes to Ian. And he sits, sipping his beer and eating his nacho’s as Lip and Ian go from arguing to laughing to just sitting in silence staring at each other with this weird brother vibe. Lip tells Ian about how everyone in the family is doing and Ian listens intently and asks all the right questions. Fiona married some guy named Jimmy Steve and Mickey thinks its retarded for someone to have two names. Debbie has a kid of her own, a little too young according to the dissatisfaction of both Gallagher brother’s. Lip finished college and has some amazing job at some startup company. Carl spend some time in juvie, which makes Mickey snort out a laugh and Ian rubs his hand on Mickey’s knee and he shifts uncomfortably because Lip doesn’t know that side of them. Liam is good. Lip doesn’t say much about him. 

But Lip does tell Ian that Frank is dead. So is Monica, which Mickey puts two and two together and figures that’s the mother. Ian’s expressions change about 10 times in 30 seconds and its Mickey’s turn to rub his hand on Ian’s knee and when he feels Ian’s long fingers intertwine with his, Mickey squeezes gently. The atmosphere changes after that and Lip starts in with the bullshit. 

“You should come home, Ian. It might be good for you.” 

“Fuck that.” Mickey chimes in for the first time. “He has a home. Here.” 

“Dude, you’ve known him 3 months. We are his family. He needs to come home and deal with his family shit. He can't just run away.” Lip narrows his eyes like he’s telling Mickey the same thing. 

“What about what I want, huh?” Ian demands. He points his finger at Lip, fire in his eyes. “None of you ever listened to me. None of you ever saw me after I got diagnosed. All you saw was Monica. You guys watched me like a hawk. Never let me make any of my own decisions. I was a prisoner in that house.” 

“We were looking out for you, Ian. We didn’t want you to end up like her. But you did, didn’t you? You fucking took off first chance you got. Didn't leave a note, didn’t tell us shit! Just like she did. You didn’t think about what that would do to us. Just like her. You tried to hard not to be her, but that’s exactly what happened. And you know what? She ended up dead. I don’t know if it was the bi-polar that killed her or the fucking drugs, but she ended up right where we thought she would. 6 feet in the ground. And we don’t want that for you. You need your family.” 

“He’s got me.” 

Ian and Lip turn their eyes to him, widely. Ian gives him a small, warm smile and Lip just glares. “And what the fuck can you do for him, huh?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Give him a job. A safe place to stay. Food to eat. I was there when he wouldn’t get out of bed. I changed the sheets and gave him a bath when he pissed all over himself. I was in the hospital every damn day till they let him go home. I let him yell and scream and throw shit at me when he needed to. I let him curl his tall ass mother fucking body against mine when he needed to. I took care of him. He found me and he’s got me. So, you can go back home to his family and you tell them he’s got someone. And we’re doing just fine.” The table rattles as he stands, other customers staring at his outburst and he leaves the two brothers, speechless at the table. 

Mickey smokes 2 cigarettes before Lip and Ian make their way out of the restaurant. Lip doesn’t say anything to Mickey, just hugs Ian, whispering things in his ear before he turns and walks away from them, up the street to who knows where. 

“I fucking hate that guy.” 

Ian smirks. “Really, because I think he kinda likes you.” 

“Fuck if I care if he likes me or not. I fucking hate that guy.” 

“He means well.” Ian sticks his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. 

“You going home?” 

Ian shrugs. “Nah, I got all I need here.” 

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Yeah?" He touches his forehead, unable to really form words to his thoughts. "You okay with your mom and dad and shit? I mean that has to be hard."

Ian nods, looking down at his sneakers. "It is. I mean, Frank wasn't really my Dad so it doesn't bother me as much as you would think. But my mom? I figured I'd never see her again, but just knowing she was out there was at least something. Its weird to think her energy isn't like out there in world or something. She was like this enigma, you know?"

Mickey does know. Its exactly how he feels about Ian. "Sorry man."

Ian tilts his head and just stares at Mickey for almost a minute. Mickey shifts his weight from foot to foot, the weight of Ian’s stare unnerving. 

“Lip says you love me.” 

“Lip says a lot of dumb shit.” 

Ian murmurs an ‘mmm’ and steps into Mickey’s personal space. “That was a pretty beautiful speech in there.” 

“Fuck off.” But Mickey is smiling, he can't help it. Ian is just standing in front of him, towering over him in all his tall mother fucker way, looking at him like he’s the most precious thing in the damn world. It makes Mickey want to run. It makes Mickey want to confess every fucking feeling he has coursing through him. It makes him want to punch him. But most of all it makes Mickey want to kiss him. 

So, he does.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Mickey knows, before the apartment door even closes, that the next few moments are going to change everything. Mickey could feel the electricity buzzing between them as they walked home. They had kissed on that sidewalk for about 3 minutes. Just letting the chaos and stress of the day dissipate through their lips and out into the world. Mickey felt light and happy as he walked next to Ian to their apartment; casually bumping shoulders and giving each other these glazed over looks. Mickey knew something had just shifted between them; an understanding that this was it. They had both found their place in this fucked up world and it was with each other. 

Micky had never answered Ian last week when he asked if what he was offering Mickey was enough. That even though Ian would be sick for the rest of his life, and if even if he promised he’d take his meds he couldn’t guarantee things wouldn’t get bad again. But all he could promise is himself. Ian. Being here. Being with Mickey. Would it be enough? 

And in this moment, as the door closes and Mickey turns to find Ian looking at him with those eyes, he knows, deep in his fucking bones, that it was. It was enough. Because all he wants is fucking Ian. Ian with his loud annoying laugh. Ian with his almond milk and kind bars. Ian with his incautious humming and dancing he does when he’s cooking or cleaning. Ian with his nightmares at 3am. Ian when his eyes glaze over because sometimes his mind is just too much and Mickey loses him for a few minutes. But Mickey wants everything. All of it. Good and bad. 

And here Ian is, standing in front of him, asking him with his eyes and his body if this is it. If this is what he wants. To go to the next step. To finally admit that yeah, Mickey can't live without him. If Mickey is willing to give him his all. His mind, body, love, future, trust. And he does. Fuck, Mickey does. 

“I’m in.” Mickey whispers. “Fuck Ian, I’m all in if you are.” 

And then Ian smiles. This blinding, happy smile that Mickey is sure can't be human. “I’ve been in since I saw you in the Library.” And then Ian is kissing him and Mickey doesn't have time to think about anything else. Ian is all limbs and hands and fingers and tongue and hips pushing Mickey backwards towards the bed. Ian’s pushing as Mickey’s pulling, trying to get closer as if he wants to crawl under Ian’s skin. Clothes are shed quickly and Mickey thought when this finally happened, if it happened, it would be slower. He didn’t expect it to be this rush of urgency; like if they didn't do this, right now, they would both die. 

Ian kisses him like he’s trying to breathe for Mickey. It leaves Mickey weak and Ian is holding him up with his strong and long arms and his hands wrapped around the back of Mickey’s head. He keeps murmuring ‘I love you; I love you’ and it feels like Mickey’s heart is about to come out of his chest. All he can do it kiss Ian back; show him with his lips and tongue all the things he feels. All the things that have been crawling under his skin for months. All his walls are gone now. Torn down and broken at their feet as Ian’s naked body wraps against Mickey’s. 

Its passion. Heat. Need. Want. Chaos. Its cosmic. Its insanity. But its good. It's so fucking good. Ian pushes Mickey playfully onto their new bed and crawls over him in a predatory manner and Mickey can't help the moan that escapes his throat as he watches Ian’s arms and abs ripple with each movement. He juts his hips up to meet Ian’s when he finally settles himself over him. Fuck he’s beautiful. And Mickey must have had that thought out loud because Ian smiles down at him and runs his thumb over Mickey’s bottom lip. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, Mickey.” 

Mickey just sighs into Ian’s words as they wash over him and pull him down into another kiss. They must kiss for hours. Or that’s how it feels to Mickey. The sun has set by the time they finally stop and the only light in the apartment is coming from this tiny bulb above their stove. Its intimate in a way even though they leave that light on every night. Mickey never thought too much about it until now. It was just always there. Kind of like how he felt about Ian. 

“I need to be inside you.” Ian whispers, almost inaudible. But Mickey hears it, and feels it in the pit of his stomach. Mickey nods, slowly, because words are hard for him in this moment. “Yeah?” Ian asks breathlessly. Mickey nods again. “Fuck, Mickey. I am going to make you feel so good.” 

“You already do.” Mickey can feel himself shaking in Ian’s arms and its making him feel like some kind of virgin, which he isn't, but it's been a long as time and never with a person he actually fucking cared about. Loved. 

Ian reaches for the drawer on the bedside table and Mickey instantly hates Ian’s body away from his even though it only takes less than 30 seconds. When he hears the cap open Mickey sucks in a breath and squeezes his eyes shut. Fuck this is really happening. He’s going to have sex with Ian. He feels Ian rub his nose against his own and his eyes pop open. Ian is so close. His chest on his. His legs wrapped around his. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

“Just relax. I’m right here.” Ian’s voice is soothing, quiet. Calm. And when Mickey feels his finger rub against his hole his body seizes up and he lifts his hips so far off the bed, his cock hits Ian in the face. Ian laughs and darts his tongue out to lick at his tip. 

“Fuuuuuuck.” Mickey moans and Ian pushes his finger all the way inside him and he wraps his mouth around the head of Mickey’s dick. He just licks around it as he fucks his finger into his tight hole. He clenches around Ian’s finger as Ian takes Mickey’s cock all the way down. Mickey’s skin is on fire as his body gets used to all the different sensations. Mickey’s moaning and digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

“Let me hear you.” Ian whispers, his lips still brushing against his cock. He just licks up and down it and then there is more pressure and Ian is pushing more fingers into his body. “Fuck, Mick. You’re so tight. I’m gonna blow the second I’m inside you.” 

Mickey’s arms flop beside him and he whines as Ian continues the agonizing pleasurable assault on his ass and cock. Mickey doesn’t know if he wants to come like this; hot and hard in Ian’s mouth; or with Ian’s impressive and somewhat scary dick inside him. Maybe he could do both. Who the fuck knows? 

“I could do this for hours.” Mickey looks down to find Ian hovering above his cock, bottom lip stick on the tip. 

“I wouldn’t care.” Mickey runs his fingers through Ian’s sweaty hair, pushing it back off his forehead. It's such a gentle gesture and Ian’s eyes just shimmer with something that Mickey’s never seen in anyone eyes when they look at him. 

Admiration. 

Ian spends maybe another two minutes fingering him before he pulls his fingers out slowly and Mickey can't help but push his ass down, searching again for the feeling of fullness he just had. Ian just shushes him and reaches for the condom he had thrown on the bed at Mickey’s head. Mickey watches with hooded eyes and heavy breathing as Ian sheathes himself and applies lube to his cock. He wipes the excess over Mickey’s cock with a few hard strokes and Mickey’s eyes flutter closed as how fucking good that feels. Ian takes Mickey’s legs under his knees and lowers them onto his shoulders. And then Mickey tenses. It's all so open, so intimate. He’s so exposed to Ian this way. In every way. 

“Just breathe.” Ian says leaning down to press his lips hotly to his. And then he pushes in and Mickey throws his head back and Ian’s mouth latches onto his exposed neck. It takes Ian forever to finally bottom out and Ian is just breathing against Mickey’s neck and as Mickey rakes his nails up and down Ian’s sides, adjusting to how fucking big Ian is. Yeah, you can look at it and see how big it is, but until it was inside him, Mickey had no fucking idea. Because Mickey feels so full, he can feel it in his stomach and his hard on has flagged a little from the pressure and sting, but the way Ian is moaning against his neck, its slowly starting to come back to life. 

“Mick,” Ian breathes. 

“Ian.” Mickey responds back, wrapping his arms around Ian’s shoulder and pulling him closer, as if that were possible. Ian pulls out and pushes back in and Mickey loses all sense of time and reality. All there is between them is heavy breathing, soft curses, the sound of skin on skin and hot, intense pleasure. It's never felt like this. The couple of times Mickey has bottomed, it never ever felt like this. It was rough, hard and demanding. It was a means to an end; the ending being an orgasm and that’s it. But that’s not what this is between him and Ian. This is something deeper. Something almost cosmic, if Mickey believed in any of that shit. 

Ian is murmuring pornographic shit about how tight and hot Mickey’s ass is. How he can feel Mickey’s hole get tighter with every thrust. How in the future he’s going to fuck Mickey raw and cum so deep inside him Mickey will still feel it days later. He tells Mickey all the things he plans to do with Mickey from now on; how he’s going to eat his ass until he cums all over himself. How he’s going to wake Mickey up with blowjobs. And Mickey likes every single fucking thing Ian is promising. Mickey just continues a chant of ‘yes, yes, yes.’ 

“God, I want tie you up and see how many different ways I can make you cum. Or you can tie me up and ride me until I scream.” Mickey is panting, literally drooling as Ian just keeps fucking him with in hard long thrusts and he can feel how wet his cock is; the tip smearing it all over Ian’s abs. Because he never realized how filthy Ian is and he fucking loves it. This feels right giving up total control to Ian and Mickey knows in a way Ian needs it. To have control over something. And if Mickey can give that to him, even better. 

Ian is lasting a hell of a lot longer than Mickey expected, not that he’s complaining. Because holy fucking shit is this good. Mickey is pushing down into every thrust Ian is giving him and his heels are digging into Ian’s shoulders. And the kisses? Fuck the kissing is open mouthed and wet and their tongues just battle for dominance. Mickey knows there will be times in the future when their sex will be slower. Because this right here is fucking. Pure animalistic fucking. Because this is 3 months of pent up sexual tension. This is mornings of waking up to Ian’s cock hard and pushing against Mickey’s ass. This is heated glances. And sitting at Ian’s bedside in the hospital. This is the plates and mugs Ian has shattered. This is doors slammed. This is Ian and Mickey never walking away. This is them, in it, really in it. 

“Are you close?” Ian moans, pressing his forehead against Mickey’s. Mickey nods, and reaches between them to grab his cock. It's still wet from the lube Ian used to on him earlier and Mickey jerks his cock with Ian’s steady thrusts. Mickey can tell Ian is close because his breathing is becoming harsher and at this point, he’s just pushing in in in into Mickey. His arms are trembling as they are being held on either side of Mickey’s head and when Mickey feels his release creep up on him and he cums against his hand and Ian’s stomach, Ian lets out a noise that Mickey isn't even sure is human and collapses against Mickey, burying his face in Mickey’s shoulder. He shudders and jerks as he cums and Mickey can feel Ian’s cock throb inside him. 

It's warm and he can feel every ripple of Ian’s release. He just smooths the hand not on his own dick up and down Ian’s back and slowly lowers his legs off Ian’s shoulders. They both lay there, Ian still inside him, as they catch their breath. Mickey can feel Ian softening inside him and he finally slips all the way out and they both groan. Mickey feels Ian laugh against his skin and leans up to look at him. Their eyes meet and Mickey can't help but just touch Ian’s face. His cheek. His chin. His eyebrows. Even his eyelids. And Ian just looks at him with this fondness that Mickey isn't sure he will ever get used to. Because he doesn’t get shit like this. He doesn't get hot boyfriends. He doesn’t get to fall asleep next to someone every night. He doesn’t get to kiss someone on the street without the fear of someone his father may know seeing him. 

But Mickey has it. And he’s going to do anything he can to make sure he keeps it. 

“I love you.” Mickey whispers. “Fuck, I love you.” 

He wipes the tear that escapes Ian’s eye a few minutes later and he holds Ian against him for hours after that. They will need to move at some point, change the wet sheets and take a shower. But Mickey knows Ian will curl up behind them when it's all done and Ian will be here in the morning probably waking him up with that blowjob he promised and Mickey knows, he just knows, maybe he wasn’t supposed to ever get this, but fuck if he doesn’t deserve it. 

And so, does Ian.


End file.
